


Keep On Dreaming of Heaven

by SinIxto



Series: The King and the Pie Maker [1]
Category: Pushing Daisies, The Hobbit, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Silmarillion, Tolkien - Fandom
Genre: Fluff and cute shippy things, I mean like really slow, I need more fics of my ship there are like two, Kinda, M/M, Minor Character Death, Ned to the rescue, Other, Please don't kill me with how slow the ship will progress, Potential buttsex, Pushing Daisies/Tolkien crossover, Slow Burn, Thranduil needs a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 83,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6629929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinIxto/pseuds/SinIxto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thranduil gives up his throne to finally travel into the West, he leaves behind the home he grew to love for something better. With hope for his future with his family, he boards a ship only to be waylaid by a terrible storm. Fate has another idea for him, his time is up in Arda, there is someone else who needs him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unnatural Stirrings

There comes a time in every age where a King must pass on his crown and step down from his throne, whether the bearer of bad news is by the edge of a blade or the call of the sea to beckon the elves into the West. Most fell to old age, or war, or worse. It had not been so for Thranduil; his reign had been long and through hardship. Through history’s most recent war, through darkness and folly, Thranduil had lead his people through their last battles without fear, true in heart and valiant in spirit. 

After the fall of The Great Eye into the shadow from whence it came, peace came upon the Greenwood. A hard fought and hard won age in which the elves of the Woodland realm stood loyally at the side of their King. Where the trees were lush, and the deer once more came through the glens without fear. 

Though this age had come anew, darkness still went hither and thither in the night. The fourth age came to pass as the age of men. A greying set upon Middle Earth, and so it was too for Thranduil, King of the Woodland realm. As Legolas passed into the West, his eyes ever after saw not the green of the leaves, but the grey of the clouds. He endured his time within his hall. 

As time passed them by, the halls grew ever more barren, with less jovial song, and more echo on the hushed words from one to another. The time had come for the Woodland realm to pass from whisperings into myth and legend. 

Thranduil stood now between the pillars of his gate, looking inward to the gaping maw of the stronghold he’d built with the love of his people in mind. Inside those walls they had felt the sting of hardship, the tears of happiness, and the emptiness of loss. Thranduil found himself lost to the echoing memory of laughter. He had taught his son here to use a bow, a sword, and watched him grow with bravery. These were the walls in which he raised his flesh and blood to be a hero of the Fellowship. It would be a sorrowful goodbye to close their gates, but upon the horizon of the West he would meet again with a love much stronger than the attachment he had to mere wood and stone. 

“Heavy is your heart upon this late hour, Thranduil,” Celeborn spoke from behind him. Thranduil turned his head to glance over his shoulder into the faces of his dear friends. Galion had gathered the last company of the elves to leave behind their home to its stale finish. What spirit came back to the Greenwood was welcome to his throne, now. 

“Aye,” he whispered in response, letting his melancholy whisper through in his voice, though it showed more in the slouch of his shoulder and the dim of his eyes. “I will entrust the land to you at last, though it is a sorrowful trust. There are voices in those halls still for me. Voices long dead, and countenance I cannot rid myself of. The legacy of my father passes now from my hands to yours,” Thranduil plucked from his head a crown of flowers and springs, holding it in both hands as he passed it to Celeborn. So passed the last great Elvenking. 

“May it be that the stars brighten the path of your journey into the West, Mellon,” Celeborn placed his hand over his heart, and then directed it toward Thranduil, who returned the gesture with a bow of his chin toward his chest as he closed his slate eyes. He did not turn back to glance at his home as he walked to join the envoy of his people. Their ship would be waiting for them upon the coast, and from there they would depart from Middle Earth for ever. 

Heavy were Thranduil’s steps toward his horse, Alagos. He mounted onto her back and lead the envoy toward the West. Behind them the wind whispered in the trees, faint and lamenting. Through his time in the arms of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil had always given his heart. He had offered up the joy of his people in open feasts and merry making in the trees by the light of red lanterns. At the darkest hour of Mirkwood, Thranduil had given only his love into the trees. So it was upon his leaving that Eryn Lasgalen wept for his passing, as if the trees themselves would mourn him. Celeborn would come to find in the coming weeks that orchids would spring forth at the gates of the stronghold, and deer would lay and nap in the rays of sun that would peek through the crowns of the trees. Though Thranduil had left behind the forest, his spirit would ever linger. 

\---------

The journey to the coast had been long and arduous. The small collection of elves stood upon the docks in solemn silence. It was the first time that Thranduil had stood at the edge of the sea and harkened to the song of life that called to him. It wove a picture in his mind of undying gray havens. It showed him the lights of the past and the promise of a future where he felt as though he belonged. The song sang to him of laughter and warmth, where there was no worry of borders, politics, or intruders. There was plenty of rich drink and succulent foods to feast upon. It was not these things that Thranduil longed for, but instead the broad shoulders of a battle worn hero that remained in his memory walking away rather than walking toward. Indeed, Thranduil would find home again with his Son, Legolas. He even looked forward to learning more of his son’s dear friend, the first Dwarf to travel to the undying land. 

He could see in his mind the reflective blue eyes of his son staring back at him, welcoming him to their new beginning. He could now feel the embrace of old friends, of allies and dear ones that make him more sick for home. He could imagine the laugh of his mother, the pride in his father. This was his new home. A home that no longer meant dusted paths and stone, nor bows and blades, or spiderwebs. It meant light and stars, love and prosperity until the final days. He could feel himself drawn out toward the sea with a great urgency to return to somewhere he’d not even seen with his own two eyes.

Though he had his own contempt for the Valar and their teaching, their passiveness, and their divine rights, he could not deny to himself that his heart longed for what they would provide him now. Selfish as it was. So long had Thranduil resisted himself to the call of the undying land. 

When he set foot on deck, he did not expect the rock of the water to be so jarring. It threw him off his balance so that his hands clutched the edges of the rails with white knuckles. Though he felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment, he laughed with his kin.

“It is far different from walking along the high boughs of the trees, it will be a long trip, but ever sweeter will the land be to me,” he bubbled, lowering himself to sit delicately on a crate. Galion took his place at the side of his King; duty no longer separated their places and the passing weeks had seen them become closer friends. Though duty had never separated them before, there was something to be said for speaking freely on equal ground. Thranduil found that he’d been missing out on the wit and sharp jokes of his butler. Galion had been comfort when the passing of his power and throne had seemed like too much. Thranduil had strived his whole life to be a great and unforgettable King, to do great deeds. Now his passing was upon him and his legacy seemed dim in comparison to his expectation.

“Aye, but you will earn your sea legs yet, Thranduil. Be without worry, it is but a short journey in comparison to the long pleasures that are offered to us next. Will you be able to hold your lunch?” His elder asked him cheekily with the nudge of an elbow. Galion had always been the one brave enough to tease the King, only now it was more frequent and Thranduil felt himself free to tease in return.

“Oh, I’m sure, and if I find myself ill, I will be sure to aim it in your direction,” Thranduil grinned precociously, tilting his head so that his unrestrained silver locks could spill over his shoulder. Galion had not the heart to tell him how much he looked like his mother. 

“Get me, and I will get you back twice over,” Galion warned, and offered up his hand to Thranduil to aid him in his walk toward a more suitable sitting space. Once they were settled, Thranduil could hear the voices of merriment in the open air. Though some of them came from his kin, Thranduil was surprised to see children upon the shore. They shouted out to the elves and dumped baskets of flowers into the water so that the current would wash them about the ship. Thranduil’s shoulders slumped back, though he touched his chest and bowed his head toward the children on the shore. 

“They’ve come to bless our journey?” Galion questioned, and gaped his mouth open when Thranduil stood once more and wandered to the edges of the ship to see the people on the shore, speaking to them freely as though he’d known them as old friends. Likely, they would not live to see an elf ever again. Who was to say when Celeborn and the people of Lorien would pass in finality to the West? It could be another age, or much longer. Elves were a dying breed in this world, and so these children could be the last to tell of a ship with white sails that bore the elves off to sea. He sat back and allowed Thranduil to take joy in speaking with the children, joking quietly and singing with them while the ship was loaded with provisions.

“It is a shame,” he muttered under his breath to Galion after they got word that they would be leaving port soon. “Elven magic has all but faded from these lands. What will the world look like when there are no more of our kind left here? It is a hard thought to pass upon my mind and yet… it has come a time for Men to make their own magic. I would almost like to stay and see for myself what kind of world there is to come. What heroes will rise among men, or hobbits… even dwarves?”

“My lord, there will always be magic in these lands. There is magic anywhere you look hard enough for, I think. Though it may not always come in fantastic ways; the elves are not the only people to possess such abilities.”

“I am aware,” Thranduil replied quietly, but there was doubt on his mind. Humans used magic for selfish gain; there would be no council from history’s past to warn them of what they might wake from the depths. Humans feared the Greenwood, and most even believed now that Elves were just stories. As though they had already passed on from relevancy. Thranduil feared silently for what change would look like, but the faces of children throwing flowers to the sea for their journey gave him hope. So long as there was a belief in good, good things would come. 

\------

Days into their journey passed, and Thranduil could taste the salt on the wind. Static crackled the sky on the horizon, and the sea grew choppy with the winds that pushed at their sales. The crash of thunder in the distance brought to him worry, like a bad omen on their passing forward. The clouds began to black out the moon and stars. Though it had been advised for him to be below deck, Thranduil could not shake the feeling of doom in the stuffy quarters below, where others drank at their stores of Dorwinion. 

It was the path of the stars that was supposed to lead them from one reality to the next; to pass from this earth to the haven, they were supposed to navigate and read the signs of the lights in the sky. Without a light to guide them, and the roll of the sea, hushed murmurs fell over the crew of elves. As if to seal their fate, Thranduil tilted his chin upward as he heard the cry of an albatross. 

Their ship groaned with effort, and on the horizon Thranduil could see lightning strike at the water. Snow blew toward them on a wind so bitterly cold, Thranduil swore he could hear a hiss of a foul word within it. It was then that shouting came from below deck, scrambling, and horrified yells came from below as Thranduil made to see what was happening. Before he could, the elves brought forth a man with blood upon his hands and fire in his eyes. 

“You will take me with you! Unhand me! Let me go! I will kill you! Do you hear me? You filthy tree courting goodfornothing Faerie shits!” The man continued to spew profanity as Thranduil’s guards held him still. Behind him a crash of thunder told Thranduil what fate their journey was upon. 

This man was a stow away, and he’d murdered one of Thranduil’s kin. The crimson stained the white wood of the deck, sending a deep and uncontrollable rage into the heart of the Elvenking. They were days away from peace, and this man had slaughtered one of his family. One of the people that he had spent ages doing his very best to protect. Thranduil drew his blade and stalked the deck to press its edge to the stowaway’s neck, towering over him with a flaming ire to match the rage of the sea. 

“My lord you cannot! The wind is already ill upon us. Another death could bring imbalance on this already ill journey!” His guard shouted to him, grabbing his shoulder to try and restrain him. With his jaw clenched, Thranduil found it within himself to give mercy, though in his mind this man did nothing to deserve such mercy from him. What better judgement could he face than standing before Mandos in the great hall?

“Where is Galion?” Thranduil snapped, “restrain this man and tell Galion to see me immediately.”

A silence fell between his people. What remained was the whistle of the angry wind and the slosh of the waters creeping up as if the sea was to swallow them down whole. Thranduil felt his insides go cold as he gazed again at the blood on this man’s hands. He had not just slain anyone--

“Cut his throat nice and clean. Not a peep from him,” the man goaded him with a wicked grin.

“Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth you lothesome snake,” Thranduil bellowed with another crack of thunder. His stomach clenched with the unstable sway of the deck. He felt as though his chest could crack open at any moment and unleash upon this wretch thousands of years worth of pain. For all of the work Thranduil had put into defending his people, how had he not noticed this interloper upon the ship? How had he come to let this happen to one of his dearest friends?

Burning in his eyes skewed his vision minimally; they had been so close. 

Though his jaw clenched, he steeled himself to think rationally enough that they would not be taken by the storm. They had enough worry on them without the wrath of the heavens. Truly, this was wrath. The way the ship tossed and they struggled to gain control of their destination, Thranduil came upon a single realization. 

With this man on deck, they would not be crossing into the undying land. It would not open up for them, and the storm was there to deny them their passage and right. They would either turn back, or die in the roll of the storm. 

“Turn back to shore!” Thranduil ordered, and grabbed the shirt of the man as he dragged him toward the stairs that lead below. He was overwarm to the touch-- sick, most likely. What else could drive him to do something so terrible? Sickness of the mind, perhaps a fleeting follower of Sauron--

Thranduil threw the man to the deck and stood above him with a glower set in his pristine features. The usual gentleness of the King had melted into animosity-- what use was mercy to him now? He would turn back to the shore and be forced back into empty halls. He would have to turn away from the sea longing that already clung like a wet cloak to his bones. The need like a craving to see his son was denied, and it entered his mind like withdrawal. 

His thoughts reeled as the man simply laughed at him. Confusion came to life over him as Thranduil took an unwilling step back to keep his balance. The skin on the man’s back shifted and stretched as though there was something below it that had come to life. The laughter that billowed out of the man’s chest distorted into an evil thing, accompanied by the crackle of his jaw. Teeth protruded from the lower mandible of-- Thranduil had never seen anything like this before. 

It was no man, and whatever it was was not of this world. It could not be of Sauron’s making. Perhaps the creature was older than that. A demon that had sprung up through some Vala forsaken crack in the ocean floor and slithered its way upon their ship. It dripped with the stink of foul rot that ate away at the floorboards of the ship. What came forth through the stretch of the creature’s skin was a twisted and mangled wing, and then another. Its eyes pierced through the dark as overhead the storm rocked the ship. 

“You are doomed unto the depths, elf. You know not what your journey has woken,” it growled with an impossible voice that gurgled like the water down a drain. Panicked voices came from overhead, and Thranduil did not hesitate to draw his blade. He launched himself forward with the intent to strike before the creature could take whatever hellish form it intended. 

It was too fast, crashing backward with claws that poked through its hands. Veins lit up in its chest as its jaw opened up and ripped the skin from its face. The reptilian creature blew flame at Thranduil. With a cry of shock, Thranduil dropped his blade and fell to the side, rolling up on one knee. 

A dragon. A dragon disguised as a man. But how was that even possible? Horror reeled over him as he looked over his shoulder to see the staircase burning. Smoke filled the lower decks, and the screams of his people filled his ears. They would not make it to shore. This dragon would drag them down into the depths from which it crawled out of. They had not the time to make it back, and they could not bring this creature to the undying land. They would die in hellfire, or they would drown. 

Thranduil scrambled for his blade and gripped it in his hand, drawing up to his full height. 

‘Unless…’ He could fight valiantly enough. If Thranduil could kill the beast in time, they could pass through the storm and into the West. His loyal kin came to him through the corridors, their blades drawn too. ‘I must slay him before he gets too big for the vessel to hold him--’ as it was his mass kept growing, and so he did not hesitate to run toward the dragon. 

“Foolish!” The beast sneered at him, and crashed its large claws down with intention to crush the King. Thranduil dodged to one side and rolled to strike at the beast’s shoulder. His blade ricocheted off of the dense dark scales that poked through the used to be skin. There was no way for his blade to pierce the shell of scales. They would need something more to destroy the dragon-- but as it was they stood no chance in the burning corridor, filling with smoke. Thranduil shouted to his kin to make for the deck above. As they obeyed, he turned and fled toward the burning staircase, vaulting himself up charring steps while his cloak burned at his hind. 

The heat of fire at his heels broke him into running faster, and as he hit the deck above, Thranduil rolled out of the way in time to see spurts of fire belch through the opening of the stairs. The deck cracked and broke as a large reptilian form clawed its way out of the belly of the ship, screeching at him. Its eyes as green as the trees Thranduil had come from, he found his opening for advantage. 

“Fire!” he ordered to the elves standing by in the crow’s nest, pointing his hand toward the face of the dragon. There came a barrage of arrows aiming for the evergreen eyes of the beast as it launched toward Thranduil, scrambling through the blades of other elves. Jagged fangs snapped at him a second too late as the ship pitched to the side, sending the Elvenking tumbling overboard, grabbing the railing just seconds before the angry sea could swallow him. 

Rain pelted down from the heavens in a blessing to extinguish the fire on the ship that already threatened to wreck them. 

“You will burn!” The dragon screeched and swept more of his kin off deck with its large tail, wrecking crates and sails. Every second that passed with this thing upon their ship narrowed their chances of survival. Lightning struck the creature from above, and Thranduil looked toward the sky as he hurled himself back on deck, loosing his cloak to be stolen by the wind. He was left without armor, in but a tunic with a sword. His hair whipped about his face unrestrained. 

“Your kind is the last I will surrender my kin to, you disgusting filth!” Thranduil cried as he advanced toward the beast again. He hoped that he could get the ship to roll far enough to one side so that they could knock the dragon overboard. The larger it got, the more their ship sank into the sea, dark water spilling into the gaps left of damage. 

“If I am to die at sea, I will take the children of Iluvatar with me to the depths,” the reptile screeched and slammed its tail down with shuddering ferocity, splitting the ship in two. Horror crackled through Thranduil as he heard the screams of his people as they fell to the water. Having grown in the trees, he knew that they would perish, unable to swim. 

Sorrow overwhelmed him, and the last thing Thranduil remembered was the clash of jaws around him, swallowing him whole.


	2. Unpleasant Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [[ Okay, so I know the fic title is kind of corny, but I promise it's going to have significance later. In other news, we have our first mention of a Silmarillion parallel. I'm trying to keep very strict rules on who appears in this, because I don't want to overwhelm myself with characters to keep in line. 
> 
> Also sorry this took so long. I want to try and update this fic every Friday, but I was pretty sick. 
> 
> Edit** A friend pointed out the unfortunate killing of Chuck coming off as a plot device and silencing of the female love interest for a gay ship. Let me assure you before assumptions are made that I have different plans for Chuck. That's the only spoiler you're getting damnit, because I'm not that petty. ]]

Ned was 28 years, 48 weeks, 4 hours, and 3 seconds old when he had vowed not to touch the dead any more. A strange promise, unless you possessed the power to bring the dead back to life. First touch life, second touch, death. Ned was an ordinary man with an extraordinary power gifted to him. After the circumstances surrounding the second death of his childhood sweetheart Charlotte Charles, Chuck-- a woman that Ned had previously brought back to life-- the man known as the Pie Maker withdrew into himself. They had spent a little over a year together enjoying one misadventure after the next, sidekicks to investigating murder and bringing justice to those who deserved it. She had meant the world to him, and he to her. 

Because he had touched her back to life, and in accordance to the rules of his gift, she could be alive for 60 seconds without consequence. Caught up in a moment of love struck insanity, Ned could not bring himself to kiss her again to end her life. Instead, her life was traded for another man’s, until the moment that Ned had been shoved into his girlfriend by a drunk and rowdy man on the street who he’d accidentally bumped shoulders with. Cosmic injustice happened on them as Ned was left with a dead again girlfriend, holding her on the side of a busy street while others crowded him under the impression of being helpful to him while the paramedics arrived. Her death had been recorded as natural causes, and once again Ned had to bury his dead again girlfriend with the grieving aunt and mother, Vivian and Lily, respectively.

Now 29 years, 32 weeks, 7 hours, and 22 seconds old, Ned stood in the morgue with the overwhelming smell of salt water hovering over him; he had his finger hovering over a corpse that had washed up but a few hours before. One that was found by Emerson Cod himself. He reeked of the ocean, but looked no more dead than somebody asleep. His still wet hair clung to his sandy face as he lay naked on a slab, covered from the waist down by a white sheet. Ned swallowed hard and pulled his hand back to hide under his arm. 

Ned noticed the porcelain complexion of the corpse’s skin, so pale that he wasn’t sure whether it was from death, or if this guy was actually that ghastly pale. He was tall, too-- even taller than the Pie Maker by the numbers on his chart. John Doe was an ethereal looking man even in death, like his eyes would open all on their own, and he would walk out of the morgue no more dead than Ned or Emerson Cod.

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this. This is a bad idea. A really bad idea. I can just feel it. Can’t you just do this on your own? Good old fashioned detective work? I can do that too. We can still do this together. Look, I promised I wouldn’t do this anymore and you promised I wouldn’t have to after… um… And who says he was even murdered? Looks like he drowned.”

“Dead body washes up on a beach, you’re right, probably an accidental drowning. But there’s bruising, and coroner says there’s evidence of foul play. We wanna get this in before the autopsy or we’re gonna have to wait until tomorrow. Now I’m thinking that this John Doe got on the wrong side of somebody and ended up--

“Sleeping with the fishes,” Ned blurted, then gave an apologetic half smile. “Look, I know. The injustice is terrible and all but--

“Ain’t nobody said nothing about injustice. Dude was dressed like some King and had a bunch of valuables on him. I’m thinking there’s a high price on whoever can identify John here and get him back where he belongs. Catch a killer, catch a little extra coin in your pocket. Come on Pie Boy, I know you can use a little more coin right now. The Pie Hole’s been on a slide since you’ve hit your rut.”

“Rut? I killed my girlfriend. I don’t think we can call that a rut. I think that’s more like a life altering tragedy.”

“You might not wanna go yellin’ that you killed your girlfriend, are you gonna touch the body or not?” Emerson leveled Ned with a look, one that said he clearly had better places to be if Ned wasn’t going to help him touch dead people. “I know things haven’t been so great since Dead girl got dead again, but you gotta snap out of it and do something or you’re gonna get stuck back in that kitchen with ya damn dog and no customers because you keep heaving those heavy sighs at everyone.”

Ned shrugged his shoulders up, then let them fall again, templing his brows in a pout at the corpse. He hadn’t cried once since Chuck had passed, even though Olive kept telling him again and again he could definitely come on over and cry on her shoulder if he wanted. He’d baked a ludicrous amount of pie, and he’d definitely spent more than one night up on the roof with a bunch of bees he wasn’t sure what to do with, but he hadn’t cried. Not once. Instead, he’d gone out and hired another waiter. A big red haired fellow with one hand and a scowl that made Emerson shiver in his shoes. At least he was a distraction. 

“Someone might be missing him-- he could have a family… Okay-- okay I can do this,” Ned took a stance a little like he was getting ready to throw a punch, inching toward the body on the slab. His sneakers squeaked across the tile floor as he leaned down over the pale being, wondering just where to touch him. The first touch after Chuck. 

Ned set his watch, but paused as he caught sight of something unusual. The tip of an ear poking through the curtains of tow hair, Ned grabbed an instrument off of one of the side tables to move the guy’s hair to get a better look. 

“Don’t see that every day,” Emerson observed as he looked over Ned’s shoulder. The two of them shared a look before they glanced back at the pointed ear that had been revealed. 

“Is he an elf? A faerie?”

“Ain’t no such thing as an elf or a faerie. Probably onn’a them crossplayer guys,” Emerson replied, unsure. Suddenly it felt as though the room had dropped a few degrees between them. Ned set aside the instrument and clicked the button on the side of his watch. It ticked to life as Ned tapped the man on the shoulder. A wash of golden sparks lit up the body for just a second, followed immediately by a harsh gasp and the body sitting straight up, to lean over the edge of the slab just so he could cough sea water out of his lungs and onto Ned’s sneakers before the Pie Maker could get out of the way. 

“Whoa--”

59… 58… 57

Thranduil’s chest heaved up in heavy breaths, his eyes frantically darting about the room to take in the alien surroundings. The strange reflective and lifeless nature of the room was not like any hall of healing he’d ever seen. It was rank of smells he’d never experienced, and in his ear he could hear the dull lulling of a voice trying to get through to him. His whole world reeled as he remembered himself immediately. Were these the halls of Mandos? Had the dragon swallowed him down to his death?

The flash of golden light he’d seen before he’d opened his eyes-- that had been the ending of his life, had it not? 

His limbs shook terribly, and to any outsider it might look as though the Elvenking had been taken by fever; a deep and terrible rage set upon him like disease, eating away at his rational mind until he turned his gaze upon the two strangers, his fingers clutching at the side of the table he was laid on. While they were nowhere near him, he felt crowded and overburdened by them. His mind was still sodden with the grief of his dear friend. While they posed no threat, Thranduil still found and restrained a thought to lash out at them. 

“Get on with it,” Emerson nudged Ned toward the spooked creature on the table. Ned felt shaken as he looked on at the former Elvenking with admiration. He was more alive than anyone Ned had ever seen in anyone who’d come back from the dead. He didn’t have the time to stare, and he knew that. Still his breath had seized in his chest with a threat of panic gnawing at him. His heart pounded hard against his ribs reminding his lungs to contract and expand.

34… 33… 32…

“Right-- Sir, we’re private investigators and I don’t have time to sugar coat this. You’re dead. We need to know who killed you. We’ve got a minute-- no, less than 30 seconds to talk about this so if you can talk fast that would be really appreciated. I mean not that we want to rush you but we kind of have to so we can catch the killer and justice can be served on your behalf. Any last words, wishes-- anything? Your name?”

Thranduil’s eyes bore holes through Ned. He was not a creature to be poked, prodded, or rushed. This man spoke of murder, justice, and 30 quick seconds to explain one of the most heartbreaking moments in all his life. He was hastened to explain the tragedy that had befallen his people at sea, and where was he to even begin. What had even happened to him? The pieces of the fight with the great beast came back to him only in short blurs. The snapping jaws of the dragon, the creak of the ship, and the screams of the elves as they plunged into the depths. How was he to even begin-- Why did he need to explain himself in the first place? Last words? Last wishes? How strange things were in this land. Perhaps he was one of the Valar, controlling of life and death, and he was to send Thranduil on his journey into the great hall. He had only heard stories of what people speculated the Valar and the hall to be like. Faint tellings of Glorfindel from his return, and none yet had reached his ears that resembled anything of the likes before him now. None of it looked the way he would have imagined it to. Indeed, he was dead, and that fact sunk through him like a weighted hot stone.

“Give my people what they are deserving of. Sweep them up from the depths of that hellish sea and bring them back to the shores of the undying land. You speak of justice, but there are no amends the Valar can make. What purpose have you to call to us to return, and then lend us only a storm-- give us no aid while we lose air and bleed out in the gullet of a serpent?! There is no justice! Return me to my people!” Thranduil shouted, stepping himself off of the table toward Ned, his legs remembering themselves near immediately, though he could feel the quiver better in his shoulders from the frenzy of anger that threatened to explode. 

“Oh hell no,” Emerson muttered as he stepped away from Thranduil. “This one’s naked and crazy. I can deal with crazy but why he gotta be naked too?”

“He’s a corpse of course he’s naked-- Look I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. You washed up on a beach and we’re running out of time. We have five seconds. Who killed you?”

“The Dragon! I am no corpse, and while I still breathe I will make my choice to return from these halls. I am not yet done--” Thranduil snarled, offended by the insolence of these creatures before him. The dark skinned man had paid him insult, calling into question his sanity, and in that already delicate moment Thranduil found he had had enough. He found himself tipping over the table toward Ned and Emerson before he could reign in the great rage that rampaged from his lungs like a fierce storm wind. Ned let out a cry and dodged around the table; he did his best to touch Thranduil’s shoulder to bring back the balance of life and death, his fingers missing by less than a sweep of an inch, catching only air. He’d been cutting it close already when he’d pushed for those last five seconds, and now he was regretting it. As he reached again toward Thranduil, who reminded him of a cornered animal with his wide eyes and furied shout, he was vaguely aware of how dangerous his actions were by the cold look in the silverblue eyes that seared a hole through him. Ned was lost to them for a half of a second, as if he was looking into the face of the past, eternal and magnificent like a marble statue-- he heard the beeping of his watch to signal that time to return Thranduil to dead without consequences was up. 

This beeping was followed by a solid kick to the chest that sent Ned sprawling back over the tipped table, crashing onto his back on top of scalpels, scissors, rib spreaders, and other tools. His head cracked hard against the metallic drawers as Thranduil made for the door. Emerson Cod had long fled the room by the time he’d realized that Ned would be too late to return Thranduil to his natural state of being. The natural state now being dead-- he had left the Pie Maker to deal with it, giving Thranduil the perfect opening for escape.

His nudity did not bother him to begin with. While his pride was usually held close to his chest, Thranduil felt no need to be modest in a time like this. These confusing halls would trap him in a place he did not want to be if he did not find a way out soon. He could be lost to punishment or condemned for violence toward someone who seemed like they were only trying to help-- he had more important things on his mind. 

For instance, a dragon. Where had such a foul beast come from? One that could take the form of a man, no less, and walk undetected in the shadow like an elf. What sorcery had seen them on their ship? Had he died in the gullet of the dragon, or had he been thrown to the depths with the rest of his people? Were they here too? Was Galion waiting for him? 

Thranduil traversed the cold halls; his only company was the soft and almost nonexistent sound of his bare feet on the tiled ground. The more he walked, the more confused he became. Picture frames hung here and there of stunning paintings of buildings of which the likes he’d never seen before. There were boards with pieces of paper pinned up on them, some with pictures, and others without. Outside there came the roar of beasts he could not place, and through the open windows the rank smell of acrid asphalt. He would have attempted to exit through the window, but there seemed a metallic net stretched tight to keep something in, or perhaps keep something out. It was not until Thranduil came upon a body that he stopped. 

Indeed, why would the hall of Mandos leave a corpse face down undignified on the floor? That was when the pieces began to fit together. The unfamiliar surroundings were too unnatural for even the likes of the Valar, Thranduil concluded. Many of the contraptions and oddities he’d crossed seemed contrived by man or dwarf. These were not the halls of Mandos, and he was alive due to a source of necromancy. It took not a second longer for Thranduil to figure out that a body out of place, looking as though it had dropped dead unexpectedly, had in fact dropped dead unexpectedly. It was the exchange of life-- his for another’s. His second chance that he’d not asked for had come at the expense of an innocent at the hands of an oaf of a man with no clue of the injustice that Thranduil had faced. Though his intention might have seemed pure, Thranduil had enough death to heavy his heart and did not care for the expense of life on his behalf. 

Solemn, Thranduil knelt beside the man to look at him, a gentle hand placed on the man’s back to be utterly sure that he was not breathing. The Elvenking made a silent vow that each breath he took would not be taken for granted, as it was borrowed air in his lungs from a life cut short. If that man had given him this life, he could most likely take it from him as well. 60 seconds. The surpassed limit was surely of more significance, but he hadn’t the time to figure it out. Thranduil slipped into the nearest empty room, closing the door behind him. 

This room stank terribly of death, but it was warm in comparison to the other places in this terrible building. It smelled of burned flesh, and Thranduil wondered to himself if perhaps this was where these men burned their dead. In front of him there sat a great contraption like a furnace with a heavy door, looking to him like an excessively large smithing station. The Elvenking pushed himself against the wall, and for the first time in a very long time, he found himself afraid. 

Thranduil was in a completely separate world than his own, with no knowledge of how he’d ended up there. He’d kicked a completely innocent man, and could have caused serious harm because of how far into his delusion he’d sunk. What had he to show for his behavior? Perhaps the lost trust of the only man who might be able to help him. Was he a man? Or was he a Maiar? A necromancer? Was he even to be trusted? Thranduil felt a conflict of regret, guilt, anger, and aggrieved.

Regardless of the man’s creed or race, guilt or innocence, Thranduil had ruined his chance of aid. Unclothed, frightened, and quite lost, there were few options available to him. The first thing he could do was find something to cover himself with. The men had worn such strange fabrics, garbed in attire he’d not seen before. Would he be able to blend in? There was no guarantee of not breaking rules of status by which clothing he chose. Any way he put it, Thranduil was going to stick out in this land. 

Another option was swallowing his pride, returning to the men with an apology, and then asking for guidance in this strange place. Thranduil would have chosen the latter should he not have remembered something the Pie Maker had said: one minute. 

The man had given him 60 seconds to live, and then Thranduil had defied him. Returning now would lead only to death, of that he was certain. He had no basis to believe that he would be shown mercy, and wished now that he’d acted more rationally and less like a cornered kir. Shame crept up to wash away at whatever else he might be feeling. Thranduil felt less like a King, and more like a common thief than he ever had. His title meant nothing here, and these men had no knowledge of him or what respect he surely would have deserved in his own land. He was just another corpse to them.

At this point, a full 899 seconds more than he’d been given, Thranduil decided to rummage the room he was in in search of clothing. What he found was a box beneath a table of mismatched attire that had seemingly been cast aside. For good reason, he thought. As the whole room stank of death, it would be etched into the fabric like a signal fire to those who cast their attention on him. He had smelled worse; in the throes of battle, he’d been drenched in the oozing blackness of orc blood and filth. He’d stepped in foul marsh and endured the pain of war-- one smoke-stained garment would surely do him no harm. 

He chose something white and dirty, as it looked to be the only one that would fit over his overlong torso. There were no sleeves on this shirt, with only thick straps for shoulders. Thranduil yanked it over his head and pulled his hair loose, pressing the still damp tresses back in a half effort before he was to continue his search. He found a pair of dark half pants that fit his waist, pulling them up over himself to conceal his modesty. The clothes were not comfortable to him, but they would do until he could find something better suited. If he could find something better suited.

Thranduil spun as he heard the doorknob rattle behind him, hastily cramming the clothing back within the box before he set it on the shelf. The frosted window kept him from seeing more than a silhouette through it, but judging only by the height and stature, it was the necromancer come for him. Thranduil’s eyes darted to the only place in the room that might conceal him from sight. Quick and light, he sprang across the room. With a heavy but silent exhale, Thranduil pulled the dense door of the strange furnace, and slid himself inside, pulling shut the door behind him. 

He was met by the feeling of ash beneath his hands and knees along with fragment of bone pressing into his skin, and he knew before he had to look down that he was kneeling in the remains of another poor soul who had met perhaps an unfortunate end. It made his stomach turn. Thranduil focused himself quietly on the man who had entered the room like a clumsy foal. His legs were unsteady under him, probably still reeling from the head wound he’d been dealt after his fall.

Ned stood quietly for just a second, taking in breaths so deep that his shoulders rose and fell, his hands shaking from the ordeal he’d gone through in the other room. He’d run at full speed through the halls, looking over every nook and cranny to see if he could find the escaped corpse. Emerson was sealing off the exits in hope that the guy hadn’t left the building yet. By the looks of it, he was right. There were clothes stuffed haphazardly into a box that sat crookedly on the shelf, out of line with the rest of the room. The box that Thranduil noticed Ned looking at, and he would have put more carefully back in his place should he have had more time to hide without the door of the furnace screeching from movement. 

That guy had been in here, Ned concluded to himself. But... who was he?

His accent was unlike any that Ned had ever heard before. There was a strange lilt in his voice that could have easily enraptured him if he hadn’t been so worried about the time limit of keeping someone alive again. He had been beautiful; striking and radiant in a way that Ned had never seen in the world before. He looked like the sort of guy who should have the power over life and death, who should be able to wield magic like it was second nature to him. He looked to Ned like the tales of old Fae folk. The ones that would come from the forest in forms of great beauty to capture the hearts of men, or bring joy or trickery with them. Fae folk could be tricky, and nasty creatures if they wanted to be. His mother used to talk about them sometimes.

Manners mattered. Maybe this guy was a Fae. Or, maybe at the very least, he thought he was. And that’s kind of what mattered right now. 

Crazy or not, Ned couldn’t help but be at least little enamored by him. Nobody could blame him for enjoying the view, right? He had seen everything, after all, even though he’d honestly tried to keep his eyes above the waist. 

Ned’s attention was caught by the only place that would be able to hide someone as tall as him. The guy had been taller than him. Not a lot of people were taller than Ned, so it was a good tool for him to estimate where the runaway would be able to hide himself. 

Carefully Ned wandered over to the door, peering through the slits and into the retort. Before him he saw two silver eyes peering back at him, slipping further into the chamber of the furnace. If the guy had hadn’t looked like a cornered animal before, he sure as hell did now. 

Thranduil’s fist clenched. He swallowed roughly, his stomach dropping as he realized that this was the end. This man would either take mercy on him, or he would kill him again and go on with his day. Where Thranduil was less afraid of death in battle, this was an entirely different circumstance. Confused, dazed, and reeling, death was not an option. He could only scowl as the necromancer began to talk to him, his voice echoing unpleasantly and unnaturally in the walls around him. Like a tomb, he realized.

“Hi… look. This really isn’t what I had planned when I came here today. Usually when I bring someone back to life, they’ve been murdered and we’re trying to find the person who killed them. But this is kind of different, I guess. Nobody knew where you were from and there was no ID on you or anything. We just wanted to figure out what happened to you, or who killed you, or even your name. We just wanted your family to have some peace, and to catch the person who killed you. It didn’t really work out that way. I’m not usually this rude when I wake the dead but I’ve been out of practice for a while. 

“Nevermind-- look…” Ned carefully opened the door to the furnace to look in at Thranduil, who looked back at him like he might strike like a snake and end him. “I just want to help you. And now you’re alive and someone else is dead and this is all my fault. Can we just… talk…? And you should probably come out of there before it turns on or something. Just because I brought you back to life doesn’t mean you can’t be dead again because someone killed you or something.”

Ned stepped away from the door and pulled the chair away from one of the desks, sitting on it and putting his hands up so that Thranduil could see that he wasn’t a threat. 

The Elvenking looked out at him and weighed his options. It was fairly obvious that the man was unarmed, and had no intent to harm him again, but he couldn’t be certain of that. Thranduil would have liked to think himself a fair judge of character, and it was unlike him to fully abstain from hearing both sides of a story when it came to injustice. So long as his supposed ‘savior’ kept his hands to himself, Thranduil could perhaps give him a chance. 

He pulled himself from the depths of the terrible chamber and stood tall, his silver hair was greyed by ash in some places, as well as his hands and knees, the belly of his shirt, and the thigh of his left leg from the position that he’d laid himself out in within that metal hell. Thranduil glared at the man, looking him up and down in critical judgement. Where was he to even begin with how much anger, fear, and animosity he’d been feeling over the last-- however long? How long had he been dead? Should he be grateful to the necromancer for restoring his life? Or should he be infuriated by the simple fact that he lived while another did not?

For now… Thranduil decided to take a chance on the kindness offered to him.

“My name is Thranduil Oropherion, I am… I was… the King of the Woodland Realm of Arda. My kingdom of Eryn Lasgalen has been left behind for our journey into the Undying Land. Our ship was assailed by a Dragon who took the form of a man through what sorcery I do not know. We wrecked, I believe. Last I remember are the jaws of the beast before nothingness. There is no justice to serve for that, Necromancer. Not unless you can return me to the sea before our ship fell to the depths, and the dragon took the life of my people.” 

‘Not unless you can restore me to my son,’ Thranduil thought to himself. A fresh wave of grief overtook him as he felt the fretful tug of his heart toward a land he would now never be able to visit. He would not ever again be able to look upon the face of his son. Thranduil’s energy grew wan, and he slumped himself next to the furnace from his weak legs. Gingerly he wiped his hands on his pants then pressed them over his eyes as if it would make all of this go away, but no tears did he shed, though his terrible grief tempted him of it.

Ned didn’t know how to react. It sounded pretty crazy to him, like one of those fantasy books gone wrong, where the hero’s happy ending backfired, and the light at the end of the tunnel had been dragon fire. For a long time there was silence between them, and Ned let Thranduil grieve for what was lost while he himself sat and awkwardly tapped his foot on the floor, looking down at his hands. What could he possibly even say to that? There wasn’t an apology that would adequately cover what had happened, if it had happened at all. 

“I’m Ned,” he finally introduced, looking up with a crooked half smile. “Ned Baker. I’m a Pie Maker, and I run the local Pie Hole. I make dead and wake the pies-- oh that was creepy, I make pies and wake the dead. Except, I don’t really. Wake the dead that is. Not anymore. Not since it backfired last time. I didn’t really want to do it this time because nothing good ever comes of bringing the dead back to life really. So I was going to stick to just… fruit. Fruit for pies. But I ended up touching you and I’m sorry. But… not sorry that you’re here and alive, because… well that’s kind of a horrible thing to say to someone. ‘Oh by the way, I brought you back to life and I don’t want you alive’. It’s not that it’s just… you should be dead.

“And… now someone else is dead and it’s my fault. So I don’t really think that making you dead again is going to fix that, and--”

“Master Ned,” Thranduil held his hand up to silence Ned. His eyes were screwed shut as if he were in pain, processing the slew of words that had come from the Pie Maker. Ned swallowed back the sentence he was about to say, muttering another apology as he leaned down to hide his mouth behind his hands, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. The quiet tension between them was almost palpable and refused to settle. 

“We can’t touch,” Ned finally interrupted again, and that caught Thranduil’s attention. “If I touch you again, you’ll die. That’s how this works. You and I can’t ever touch again if you want to stay alive.”

Thranduil fixed his eyes on the man with a faint irritation set in his brow. More for the information he hadn’t asked for, no matter how helpful it was, he was busy thinking of what he deemed as more important things. The details of how he was alive mattered not, especially as he worried about how he was to return to his own realm. Or…

“What is the year?” Thranduil asked with a voice as dry as sand. 

“2010,” Ned answered quietly, wondering if that would even have any significance to Thranduil.  
Thranduil pondered this thought silently, curious to if he had landed back in Arda, and this was the future he’d told Galion he was curious to see. 

Nothing more was said between them, as Thranduil sunk back into his thoughts. Ned pondered on whether or not Thranduil really was a King. Was he a fae? Was he insane like Emerson had implied? Despite what his rationality told him about Faeries, Kings of forests, and other such magical things like Dragons-- mainly that they weren’t real-- Thranduil had given his story with such harsh conviction that Ned almost wanted to believe him. 

“What are you?” He blurted suddenly, realizing that he was interrupting that serious train of thought that Thranduil had probably been mulling over. “That was rude, sorry. I mean… humans don’t have pointy ears. Not usually.”

“I am a Sindar Elf,” Thranduil answered patiently, using the opportunity to return the question. “And you, Master Ned? Are you a man, or are you something more?” His shoulders tensed like a coiled spring, ready to leap forth and strike down his foe should Ned suddenly do something like spray fire from his mouth, or rupture his skin to reveal wings. 

“Human, yeah. Just a human Pie Maker with a little bit of magic.” Ned crossed his arms over his chest and hid his hands under them, balling them up out of nervous habit. Being under this kind of attention wasn’t something he was used to, but Thranduil had no intention of looking away from him until he was certain that he could trust the answer given to him. 

“And what human would possibly posses the ability to imbalance death himself? What right do you possess to such a thing and use it so waywardly? I did not ask you to bring me back to life, Master Ned.”

“Um-- Just… Just Ned. I know you didn’t really ask. Nobody ever really does ask to be brought back from the dead. Not really. Most people are kind of unnervingly relaxed about it-- though, there are some people that get upset, and there was one guy… nevermind. Human, and I don’t know. I just always have had this gift I think. It’s just this thing that happened after my dog died. I didn’t mean to bring him back to life, it just happened. And I didn’t know what I was doing, so I just kind of went with it.”

“You… just went with it?” Thranduil narrowed his eyes in disbelief. To hear that a human had stumbled into a magic as powerful as this was not entirely unheard of. He’d come from a land of many such things, and had he still been in that land he might have thought of talking to one of the Istari on the matter. The brown wizard that had been at the edge of his land might have had something of use for him to use as research, as it was The Brown Wizard Radagast, and the Grey Wizard Mithrandir who had dealt with the supposed Necromancer at the tower. “I suppose that is an adequate answer. But now the question remains: Now that I am alive by your waking the dead, Master Ned, what am I to do with myself?

“I have no home to return to, no ship to travel the sea back to the undying land, and not even the clothes in which I was killed.”

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Ned told him bluntly. “But your clothes I can help you with, I think they’re probably in the donation bins. They clean the clothes and sometimes if they’re um… useable… they donate them to the homeless.” 

Though it wasn’t very kind of him, Thranduil thought about the expense he’d spent on that cloak for his journey, and then thought of it being given away like it was some rag. Part of his displeasure in the thought came from the idea that he would have to part with something that reminded him of a home that he could no longer reach. What possessions he had to take with him were now possessions of Ulmo. That cloak, his rings, some keepsakes, and his blade were the only things he had left in all the worlds. The very faint reminders of the King he once was. 

“I would like them returned to me,” he said in a voice much smaller than he’d hoped for. For one who usually stood like a willow, able to sway with the ebb and flow of troubling wind, he found himself too rigid and ready to give way under the weight of what had happened. His friends, his family, his world-- it swirled in his head uncertainly. He decided finally that he could not afford to make more enemies. He would like to accept Ned’s help, and for the time being, the former Elvenking set aside his qualms and blame. 

“Okay, we can go and get them. And you can change back into them at the Pie Hole after a shower. They might still need to be cleaned, because I think they’re still wet and covered in sand so… You’ll probably have to wash them before you wear them or something.”

Thranduil stood after Ned sprang to his feet, clumsily knocking the chair back behind him. Thranduil’s shoulders slowly unwound themselves as he bowed his head lightly in permission for Ned to lead the way. There were terms that Ned used that Thranduil was still unsure of, but his questions surely would answer themselves should he be patient enough. There was still one troubling question on his mind.

“Will I be staying at your… Pie Hole… then? I haven’t any money to pay for my accommodations, you know, Master Pie Maker.”

“Yeah but it’s kind of my fault you’re here without a place to stay or anything. There’s an empty apartment next to mine because my um… My friend moved out a little while ago. She got married, so her apartment still has a bunch of stuff in it because she hasn’t come to get it yet. I don’t think she’d mind if I let you use it. I own the building and she still pays rent. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her… right?”

For the first time since Thranduil had woken, he felt his lips curve into a faint smile, if only from relief. He would not be cast to the wilds, and whether the deed was sneaky or not, it was offered with a genuine warmth and kindness that Thranduil couldn’t help but admire. Ned reminded him of someone, and though his appearance was reminiscent of looking in a mirror, Thranduil could not put his finger on what it was that made him so easily trust the earnest nature of the Pie Maker. 

No words passed between them, and for just a moment, Thranduil could be calm.


	3. Harsh Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[ Oh my god I'm sorry this chapter is kind of boring but it's kind of necessary for things.   
> It's very long and wordy.
> 
> Elvish:
> 
> A star shines on the hour of our meeting: Êl síla erin lû e-govaned 'wîn ]]

Thranduil marveled at the feeling of something so simple. The slide of expensive silk against his palms, no matter how dirty or damp still felt like the last moments of his land. Even though as he lifted it to his nose he was overwhelmed by the smell of the sea and sand, at the collar of his cloak he could still catch the faint hints of home. The land nestled in a healing forest so very far away, like a dream. And this very moment had turned that dream into a twisted nightmare. He lowered into a nearby chair with hands trembling around the garment for what it meant to him.

 

His brow furrowed at the faint memory: he’d cast his cloak aside in battle. It had been scorched by the flame of the beast that had hewn his ship in two with its tail. How then had it been made whole?

 

Slowly his hands uncurled from his cloak to search for the keepsakes of his land within. A ring there was in his pocket, bold in width and set in silver leaves. His wedding jewel, and Thranduil was glad for it. He clutched it to his chest and bowed his head in memory of his long passed wife, sliding the jewel onto his hand where it belonged. There was strength in it yet, glimmering like an opal in the light, pure as a diamond. There had been no taint or tarnish to worry of, and not all the mithril in Middle Earth would cause him to part with this lonesome keepsake.

 

A small wooden figure was there too, shaped in the likeness of a young warrior; a toy soldier from his boy’s youth in the wood. Thranduil had carried it in his breast pocket since the days that Legolas had grown too old for it. It was no longer than one of his fingers, and no larger in width than two. The stern face of the soldier looked on at him blank expressioned and weathered from the years on. For the position Thranduil found himself now, he held it as if it was of the same worth of the jewel now on his hand. Utterly defeated his eyes found Ned again, standing by the door to look out the office window, paying him no heed.

 

So it was that Thranduil let his eyes grow glassy and wan, homesick.

 

“Emerson’s coming. I hate to say it but we have to get going or we’re going to get in some pretty big trouble. He paid off the coroner, but I don’t think it was exactly cheap, so it’s probably best we don’t really… talk… about it… Um…” Ned was lost for what to say; the expression of the King sitting bent over his few possessions made his heart ache. He’d done the same thing when his mother had died-- he’d obsessively began his need to bake and create a plethora of different pie just to remember her by. He remembered that Thranduil had said that his people had been killed by a dragon, by their ship sinking. Thranduil could have had family on that boat that Ned didn’t know about. Children, a parent, a spouse, cousins, uncles, aunts. The truth was that Ned couldn’t possibly know what kind of loss plagued at Thranduil’s heart.

 

At that very moment, the Pie Maker dearly wanted to offer a comforting word, but being no good at them he could only leave Thranduil to his thoughts. A touch was out of the question, a comforting hand on the shoulder,  a brush of any contact between them would put Thranduil back in the morgue just as lifeless as he’d arrived there.

 

“We have to go,” he repeated cautiously, as it seemed to be that Thranduil hadn’t heard him the first time. There remained silence between the two of them until Emerson knocked on the door impatiently. Thranduil rose up from his spot and folded his cloak and clothing over the crook of his elbow to follow after Ned and Emerson through the confusing halls. His feet seemed heavy, his legs hesitant to move. There was  a whole world outside of this building that was ever stranger. A new world in which he would have never set foot before. A life that was lead only within his own border had not prepared him for this. Certainly, it was no less new and strange than Valinor could have been, but there he would have had a cushion of familiarity amongst his people, where here there was nothing to brace him on impact.

 

In a place that seemed wholly unwelcoming, right down to the stern look of disapproval from the man that Thranduil could only deduce as ‘Emerson’, the Elvenking felt truly alien. A feeling he unknowingly shared with the Pie Maker, who felt alien in being able to bring the dead back to life, and lonely too from the loss of somebody that he had loved.

 

Thranduil lingered back in his stride to observe Ned and Emerson in their environment, feeling safer with the advantage of their backs turned to him. He didn’t know them, and he still was wary of their tricks. He’d taken his chances on Ned’s honesty and kindness, and that was a risk that he must gamble his life on. The gamble still did not mean that he was to move forward without caution, and not heed the signs of warning of an enemy. While Ned was kind, Emerson seemed hostile and hesitant. His keen ears did pick up on the hushed conversation between them, though he made no discernable expression to indicate his awareness.

 

“This is a bad idea, you remember the last time we kept around a dead person? He sure ain’t comin’ with us on no ‘adventure’. You hear me? I see him on one trip t’ the morgue and I am out.”

 

“This isn’t the same. He’s not Chuck, and he’s not a childhood friend that-- nevermind. We can’t just leave him there, that wouldn’t be fair. You can’t just bring someone back from the dead and drop them at the bus stop and say have a nice life.”

 

“What happened to just touching someone’s life and then moving on? What is it that you said? ‘That’s how I roll’?”

 

“Well it’s not anymore. I can change directions. I can change.” Ned chose to ignore the look and the subtle disbelieving ‘mhhhm’, from Emerson before he continued: “Besides, like I said… this is different. I didn’t keep him alive because I was in love with him, or on purpose really. But I’m not going to--” Ned made a poking gesture toward Emerson to drive his point home. “Not if I don’t have to. It seems like he’s been through enough.”

 

“Yeah, and what about poor Old Larry the Janitor, he been through enough?”

 

Ned paused, his mouth hung open in clear offense.

 

“I didn’t do it on purpose and you know that! It’s not like I did this with the intent to keep someone around and then know that someone else was going to die! This isn’t like Louis Schatz. Larry wasn’t a bad person and I know that but this was like… holding a gun, and the gun going off and hitting someone after  you drop it on the ground by complete, total, and absolute accident. What does that make you? An accomplice? Is this man slaughter? Murder? It doesn’t really matter. Making him dead again isn’t going to make Larry alive again, and if I touch Larry again, then someone else has to die, and I’m not going to do that.” Ned shrugged his shoulders up, the muscles in his body tensed like a rubber band ready to break.  

 

“This is gonna get messier the longer he’s hangin’ around. I am telling you, this ain’t just one-a them things that goes away if you think hard enough ‘bout a happy ending. We gonna do this again, we better have a damn good plan you hear me?”

 

“We can get him a fake ID right? That’s a thing that people do when they want to be normal. It wasn’t as if he was all over the news really… Can’t we just tell them that the paramedics made a mistake?  That happens.”

 

Emerson closed his eyes in disbelief and held back the irritated groan that he was about to let loose on Ned. The boy kept bringing dead people back to life and keeping them like strays, and if Emerson had hair he would swear he’d be going grey from it.

 

“You let me worry abou the details and don’t go blabbin’ to no one about this you hear me? As far as anyone  knows you just got yourself a new room made cos you got lonely.”

 

“Doesn’t that sound a little-”

 

“Desperate, pining, lonely?”

 

“Okay I get it, just because it’s believable doesn’t mean you have to rub it in.” Ned pushed open the front door to be blasted with the smell of city air. The sweep of wind that whipped up and down the street brought with it dust and the smell of exhaust; Thranduil had to close his eyes and concentrate to keep himself from reeling.

 

Besides the utter monochromatic color scheme of gray buildings and gray paths, the world outside of the building smelled of death reeked of terrible pungent smells. They assaulted Thranduil and reminded him of tales of the devilry worked in the dark underground of Mordor. It disturbed him to learn that he almost preferred the smell of death and cold to the scent of the outdoors in this city. It was a thin line between what reminded him of the marring of his land, or the odorous sterile building that drove fear into his very core; he wasn’t sure which he despised with greater intensity.

 

Thranduil bit back his comment and insult from the conversation. He relied on these two men now to keep him well out of trouble, if he decided to keep himself silent on the matters concerning his state of living, he may be able to endure until he found a place more favorable than hands of two men bickering over whether he deserved to live or die more than another soul.  A place where they did not discuss his life and death as though he had no say in the matter. Still, he silently resolved that should Ned come to try and touch him again, he would have no reservation of breaking his arm at the elbow and fleeing into the unknown without a guide.

 

What gall had they to decide his fate as if he were but a child incapable of understanding them? With a steady exhale, he allowed his annoyance to pass, remembering only that Ned had said it had been a long while since he’d used such a gift on another being such as himself, reserving his gift only for fruit. But he was a former Elvenking, not an apple to be chopped and put in a pie.

 

“How far is this Pie Hole from here? Should we not pack for a journey? How many leagues will we travel in this environment?” Thranduil questioned upon opening his eyes, his voice unwillingly coming out like grit, clearly irritated, moreso when neither men paid heed to it.

 

“Thirty minutes give or take  with traffic. You don’t really need to pack anything, the car’s right there. We’re just going to drive-- oh. You don’t have cars where you lived did you? Being an elf. Do you?”

 

“No,” Thranduil answered,  aware of the strange look that crossed Emerson’s face as Ned mentioned that he was not of the race of men. That prickle of irritation returned in rebuke of the judgement on Emerson’s face. “We travel much by carriage or horseback, by foot over path and stone of great distance. There are no… cars.” Thranduil eyed the contraption before him, noticing that it looked eerily like something of orcish make or dwarvish build. With four strange wheels at the base, made of metal and glass and seats inside of plush material that Thranduil could not name, he found he was was hesitant.

 

He drew himself up with curiosity as Ned opened a door for him and then rounded to the other side. Emerson was already climbing into the back seat, closing the door roughly on entry. The car had a hard clear panel between where Ned was seated and the seat that Thranduil had been offered. All around its appearance was strange, but over all the ride looked confining and uncomfortable. Finally he decided to seat himself down and click the door closed to his side, wiping his hand on his pants as if the car was something to be disgusted by. Shortly after, the machine roared and sputtered to life in a cacophonous display that so willed Thranduil to leap back out and refuse again to enter, but he showed a great deal of restraint and patience.

 

“And this is normal?” Thranduil looked around the stone pathway to observe that there were other machines littered about, or roaming as if by magic. The ‘cars’ as Ned had called them were moving quickly, drawn by no person or animal, making Thranduil curious of their design, but not enough so to ask more questions.

 

“Yeah, a lot of people have them,” Ned answered, and began their journey back toward the Pie Hole. “They’re pretty common place, but they’re expensive and not everybody can afford a car. I like driving, it’s relaxing.”

 

“I fail to see how,” Thranduil replied, clutching at the handle above his head, his stomach turning. The  cold blowing of air from a small vent was not very pleasant either, but Thranduil tuned it out for the duration of the journey. He dared not open his eyes after the first time he tried to do so, he’d been able to glance out the window for just about ten seconds before the passing scenery began to make him dizzy. His eyes shut once again to block out the feeling of hurdling along a pathway faster than any horse save Shadowfax might carry their rider. It was safer, he decided, to keep his eyes closed until they arrived at their destination.

 

Idly, Thranduil began to wonder if the day could get worse for him. Beyond dying, being brought back, treated as luggage, and the loss of his people, he wished to simply close his eyes and let his fëa fade from his body; he might have  if he had no doubt that his fëa would find itself back in the hall of Mandos.

 

The toy soldier clutched in his hand reminded him just why giving up had never been an option. He would not begin letting go now after all the years he’d fought to live.

 

His thoughts faded away from him, and Thranduil found himself in a sleep trance, dreaming quietly of the trees as he blocked from his mind the sound of the car. His mind took comfort in the remembered smell of the forest, and the sway of branches beneath his feet. Thranduil nearly had the wind knocked from his lungs as he felt the thin hairline of connection he still had to Eryn Lasgalen had not broken and showed no sign of wavering. He could still feel the energy in the trees, hear the phantom voice in his hall, and for a moment he found himself content. He could walk clearly in his mind from the closed and dusty gate to the spiral stairs that lead down floors into the tunnels of his stronghold. He could hear the drifting music as it echoed off of stone to the sound of water rushing down over the waterfall, draining into underground pools. Thranduil could almost reach out and touch the memory of those halls, and the spirit that still resided therein.

 

His dream came to a crashing and abrupt halt when the vehicle ceased movement, and the slamming of doors brought Thranduil back into the city. With haste, he dragged himself out of the car, cloak hugged across his stomach to hide his one hand playing with the toy soldier. His attention turned upward to the crust shaped decoration that adorned the front of the building, finding it endearing, though it certainly did not surprise him given what he’d learned about Ned thusfar. The warm atmosphere that surrounded the building even from the outside was a well needed break from the achingly devastating blow of the day’s passing. Thranduil could feel a magnetism of warmth drawing him inward.

 

The inside was more lovely than standing out on the pavement as it smelled of baking and homely comforts. The warmth of the decor was certainly like walking into a long overdue embrace, and Thranduil suspected that that had been the Pie Maker’s intent. Ned, seeming like a person who pulled away from other people due to his anxious nature had built the Pie Hole; on first impressions it told Thranduil that this was how Ned showed his affection. A subtle welcome home to anyone who needed one. Through baking, through giving people a place of warmth. It was clear that as soon as they were through the doors, Ned’s bearing changed to something less strained and uncomfortable. It made Thranduil wonder what circumstances had brought Ned to crave affection but not seize it openly, and just why he longed to  offer up a place to call home.

 

“You have a lovely establishment,” Thranduil complimented. He was drawn back to his manners, giving his grace where it was due. Despite the quirkiness of things like large cherry lanterns hanging from the ceiling, it felt quite comfortable. That was something that Thranduil had desperately needed, and soon his resolve was steadied long enough to give a genuine smile.

 

“Thanks.” Ned’s lips quirked into a half crooked simper. “I like it,” he joked, then turned his head to look toward the kitchen. “I think Cam’s in the kitchen getting the orders ready to go out tomorrow. He works here as a waiter, but the whole staff kind of pitches in. It’s a… big Pie Holer family,” Ned cringed back at the look that Emerson gave him before sliding into the seat at one of the booths. A crash of pans and tins caught their attention before a very tall person ducked their head under the archway to step out into the half circled dining area.

 

He was unnaturally tall, beyond the height of even Thranduil himself. His hair looked to be a deep red under the warm lights, like a summer wine, spilling over the man’s shoulders but held out of his face with a dark woolen hat. He donned an apron and flour stained clothing, sharp chartreuse eyes, and something that paused Thranduil’s thought. A fake hand that connected on the right wrist that carried a cup of coffee. It absolutely couldn’t be.

 

Their history had told Thranduil enough of Maedhros the tall that he was almost certain that he was looking into the face of an old legend. Conflict grappled at his insides that made him clench his jaw belligerently. The welcome environment provided by the eatery dissolved into a sick tension between a Noldorin elf and a Sindarin King.  A citizen of Doriath, and the elf who had been responsible for its terrible falling. There was no mistaking each other, for as soon as Cam saw the pointed ears peeking through platinum hair, his face sobered, cursing something softly in Quenya.

 

The hat did well to hide Maedhros’ own ears, besides the flaming tresses that were usually tied neatly in such a way that the tips were scarcely visible. Ned looked between them and cleared his throat, which unwillingly landed both of the intense stares on him instead of at one another. Thranduil said nothing out loud of his mistrust for the Kindred of Fëanor, but he showed no great love for him either; he paused to consider his options before sitting himself in suit beside Emerson Cod instead of by the man who could potentially kill him should they brush against each other.

 

“Are you hungry? I mean we have a lot to talk about, but you’re probably hungry. When was the last time you had something to eat? I know pie isn’t really a meal but it’s something sweet after a bad day and I kind of like to think that something sweet after a bad day can turn the whole day  around… buuut--” Ned faltered remembering just why Thranduil was having a bad day in the first place. “Well it can’t really hurt can it?”

 

“I have no method of payment,” Thranduil reminded Ned. “I can not give you anything in exchange for a meal here.”

 

“I’ll have a cherry rhubarb with whip,” Emerson told Cam in a deadpan over the good natured bickering between Ned and Thranduil, not giving a shit one way or the other for the sudden animosity in the air.

 

“Anything else?” Cam asked, grabbing the pad off his belt to write down the ticket. There was something more than surreal about seeing a high Noldorian former King serving baked goods and warm drinks at what appeared to be an inn.

 

“An explanation,” Thranduil heaved unevenly, wanting very much for this to be some dark trance he could wake from. “You are dead,” he pointed out briskly, a chill in his voice that would make Ned shiver from across the table. “This is ridiculous. I am well and truly confused. Am I in the hall of Mandos, or have I fallen into the clutches of some place darker? You-- you and I have come to the same fate, but I don’t understand.” Thranduil became frightful again, glad that he was sitting, for he wasn’t sure if his legs could hold him standing anymore.

 

Cam glanced up over the pad and drew his lips thin as if he were considering answering Thranduil in full, but he did not. Instead his cold glance returned to his writing where he scrawled out something else. He turned to Ned as if to ask him what he wanted, and when he was met with a dumb shake of the Pie Maker’s jaw dropped head, Cam turned back to Thranduil and spoke clearly.

 

“I’ll be back in a minute with your order,” and then turned away with a click of his pen, off to do just that, leaving Thranduil without answers. Thranduil’s bemused expression turned to one of bitter anger and brief hatred. If he’d not been so tired, he might have considered following after ‘Cam’ to demand an explanation. But of course, while Thranduil clearly knew who Cam was, ‘Cam’ had probably never heard Thranduil’s name even in passing utterance. He was no Glorfindel, or Gil-Galad, but an Elvenking who’d given up his throne at the beginning of the Fourth Age, with no great deed that would remember him in history. Of course, Maedhros the Tall would owe him no explanation even if he was Elu Thingol himself.

 

Who would want to explain their doom to a stranger who demanded of them without manner, ungracefully spitting questions with hostile glances?

 

“Do you um… Do you two know each other or something?” Ned asked dumbly, wondering just how deep Thranduil’s delusions truly went. The question made Thranduil glance again in Cam’s direction, wondering if he truly had gotten it wrong. Maybe he’d misspoken, misheard. How terribly strange.

 

“No… I thought… I apologize, his visage is of one I thought I’d learned of before,” Thranduil dismissed the thought, but did not dismiss the idea wholly. He would be keeping his eye on ‘Cam’, and if he was lucky, or very unlucky, perhaps then he would get an explanation of what was happening. He realized that he was drifting into his thoughts again when he caught that Ned had said something but he’d missed it. “Please repeat yourself, I was not listening, forgive me.”

 

“I said: ‘What are the Halls of Mandos?’”

 

“It is a great hall in the undying land; it is the hall where elves and men gather after their death, where their spirits await the final days of our world, so it is said. I assumed upon my waking that the halls around me were the confines of where I was to be held after my death; I found myself unwilling and afraid. It was not of the light and comfort that had been foretold. Nor was it fair judgement. It’s less a comfort to not know what’s happened or where I am. Whether I would in the end go thither to the undying land, I’m no longer certain. I am distraught, for these are not the halls I was promised, or the land of peace that houses my kin.

 

“It reminds me instead of a smoking cage.” Thranduil sneered lightly at his hand, unsurprised as he’d held contempt ever for the Valar since his early days of Kingship after his father had died. “I am regretful now; the sea longing drew me in only after I approached the white shore and heard promises in its theme to see my son again.”

 

Ned’s head reeled with questions; he didn’t understand half of what Thranduil had told him, and perhaps he never really would fully understand.

 

“Uhuh, and I’m the King of Canadia,” Emerson snarked from beside Thranduil laughing bitterly in the face of Thranduil’s misery, fueling him into rage. Ned could see the boiling tension between Emerson and Thranduil, who looked like he might strike like a coiled viper, ready to tear loose Emerson’s jugular and leave him bleeding on the table. That was the moment that Cam came to drop off the pie, two cups of coffee, and a cup of tea for Thranduil.

 

“The hall of Mandos is impenetrable by all other than Manwë and Mandos himself; there is no escape from the surrounding fate there, and you are not in the hall of Mandos. You are dead, and this is what humans would call hell. Hell for our kind. This mundane existence is all you have to look forward to. I didn’t want to add to your already clear despair. Eru has abandoned you here. This is the unlucky void that you come to when our mighty creator fails to catch you in his all knowing hand. You slip passed the realm of Eä, and into existence here.

 

“You and I are unwanted in our realm.” Cam pushed the cup toward Thranduil, gazing at his ashen face as defeat sagged his shoulders. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, lest it stop and you are left to feed yourself in this cruel existence,” Cam warned, sating the anger Thranduil had held toward Emerson.

 

“That isn’t true,” Thranduil rasped, then stood coming up close to Cam and staring into the bland expression. “There must be another explanation, something more than what you’ve told me. I cannot be lost.”

 

Cam looked Thranduil up and down. From the ash in his hair, to the fading bruises on his pale flesh.

 

“Take a shower,  clean yourself up, and go rest. You’re a disaster,” Cam told him with more empathy than Thranduil expected of him. “What life you lead before Earth is no longer available to you. As far as Arda is concerned, you are dead.”

 

“Hey!” Ned rose up out of his seat then and pushed his way between Cam and Thranduil. He couldn’t stand to look at the dismal expression that was starting to creep out over Thranduil’s face. He might not have been able to understand really what these two had been talking about, but he got the gist. Cam’s pessimistic nature had been a little refreshing when Ned himself had felt like yes, maybe this whole living thing wasn’t exactly cherry pie.

 

“I’m takin’ my pie to go, I’ve had enough of this loonie bin for today,” Emerson scoffed, taking the plate and a fork, much to Ned’s annoyance. Cutlery and less than fine china aside, Emerson was essentially ditching him to deal with this mess on his own, again. At least Olive wasn’t there to eavesdrop in on something he wouldn’t even begin to be able to cover in one coherent conversation.

 

“Okay, okay why don’t  we just go upstairs and get some clean clothes and-- and just calm down. We can talk about this later. I think that it’s been hard enough today and we really don’t need to talk about hell. Or dying. Or other worlds. Or-- I think God. Cam, Pie Time.” Ned motioned to the Kitchen, and the fire blazing in the Noldo’s eyes faded away back into the same dull lifelessness that Ned was becoming familiar with. The far away and vacant stare that reminded him of how he longed to see Chuck again. He’d only assumed that Cam had lost somebody too. That thought was more than confirmed.

 

Instead of lingering too long in the dining room, Ned lead Thranduil through the kitchen in silence and up toward the apartments.

 

“I’m really sorry, he’s not always so-- well… yeah he is,” he’d meant to apologize to Thranduil on Cam’s behalf, but it was hard to apologize for someone who was unapologetic about their woesome nature. Thranduil simply didn’t reply, sobered by his reality as he followed after Ned, feeling more tired than he had in all his centuries alive. His hands shook terribly, hidden only by the cloak that he clutched to, a comfort item to aid him in his settling in. The more he learned, the more Thranduil became afraid.

 

\---

 

The night afterward was no easier than the interaction with Maedhros-- Cam, now. Learning the bathing facilities and modern devices had left Thranduil tired enough that he could close his eyes and rest in the manner that men did. He could let himself drift into that vagueness between dreaming and waking where he could block away the things that made him feel so much anxiety.

 

Ned was wary. He watched Thranduil pace the apartment in thought and observation for a few hours now. Digby was on alert, watching their guest to make sure that he didn’t run into Ned on his rounds through the halls. All the pacing and worrying was beginning to make Ned as anxious as Thranduil, so he thought to himself:

 

‘What would cheer me up if I was an elf, and everything around me was falling apart? Probably nothing, honestly. Not for a really long time--’ Ned leaned his chin on his hand and watched as Thranduil stopped again by the window, craning his head to look at their surroundings as if he expected them to change. Maybe it would help him to be somewhere that didn’t smell like cars or pavement or… what Thranduil described as the smell of constant death and rotten fruit.

 

The Pie Maker fretted on what to do until suddenly he was struck with an idea.

 

“Come with me,” he offered sheepishly, catching Thranduil’s attention from the sight out the window. “I know it probably can’t fix how you’re feeling, but you’re kind of starting to make me dizzy with all this wandering around in circles. You’re going to wear a hole through the floor. I have to walk Digby anyway, it’s getting late and I haven’t taken him out to pee in a couple hours. There’s a place that we like to walk that’s really nice at night. A little scary, just because it’s dark, but I think maybe… you’ll like it.”

 

Thranduil’s despair dissolved slightly to make way for curiosity. He’d had quite enough of new experiences, but being cooped up with his thoughts certainly wasn’t helping him. Perhaps a walk with  Ned and his dog wouldn’t be as bad as he feared it would be. Clad in a pair of Ned’s sweat pants and a black T-shirt, he certainly didn’t feel like being seen by anyone. While Ned wore his clothing quite well, Thranduil felt overly absurd in it. But Ned had surprised him by taking very good care in washing his cloak by hand instead of using the machine he’d tossed his other garments into.

 

Thranduil said nothing as Ned prepared himself with a cloak, a handful of small plastic bags, and a clip  with a lead for Digby. He simply kept himself crouched by the dog, petting his head, impressed with the simple affectionate amount of patience this animal possessed. Whether Thranduil was petting his ears, or his head or his shoulder, Digby sat with a softly wagging tail, happy for the attention.

 

“You can borrow a pair of my shoes if you want. You might not want to walk around with bare feet in the city, it can be kind of gross. Okay, really gross. You step on a piece of gum with bare feet and it isn’t going to be nice.”

 

“No, thank you Master Ned. I would do well without. The feel of the ground beneath my feet is a small blessing, no matter how strange. It is a bearing that keeps me rooted, and I should thank you to keep your shoes. You’ve done me enough kindnesses for one evening in my upset.” Thranduil waved the offer, and followed after Ned out of the apartment.

 

The city was quieter at night, if only by a slight margin. There were still people walking around with their own animals. Digby seemed content to keep a safe distance from Ned, and Thranduil had learned from the way that they avoided each other, that Digby was in the same situation that he himself found himself in. Neither of them would be able to safely come in contact with the Pie Maker.

 

Digby wasn’t like other dogs that Thranduil had seen before. There was a strange sentient intelligence in Digby that Thranduil took comfort in. He thought to himself of the tales of Beren and Lúthien, the brave Húan that had traveled with them and protected them from the likes of the Fëanorians, and Sauron himself. He was lost in the thoughts of King Felagund, when at the end of the  road, the city opened up to reveal a great expanse of trees.

 

Thranduil felt his breath catch in his throat, his hand raising up to cover his parted lips. Ned had seen his anguish and had brought him to the woods. The woods were not his woods, but the thoughtfulness of the action touched him so. They were in all purposes, strangers to one another.

 

Ned felt himself tense, the small sound between a gasp and a choke that had come from Thranduil convinced him that he’d done something utterly wrong. That this was definitely the wrong choice to make. That again, by trying to make things better, he’d only succeeded in making everything so much worse, and Thranduil didn’t need more ‘worse’.

 

“Sorry. I thought-- I don’t know what I thought. Is it racist that I kind of thought because you were an elf you might like to go to the forest foot paths? I don’t know what I was thinking. You said you were a King from some woodland land or something.”

 

“Yes, I was,” Thranduil replied, and turned to give Ned a very subtle smile. Though his eyes were faintly misty, Thranduil lifted his hand to wave away Ned’s worries. He looked again to the forest and smiled a little wider at the sound of the Pie Maker releasing a sound of great relief with a nervous laugh.

 

“I’ve been walking here a lot lately and it always calms me down. I thought maybe you might like it. And I’ve been pretty upset since my Girlfriend-- um… I thought maybe--” Ned’s heart swelled with delight when Thranduil didn’t hesitate a moment longer, instead taking off at a sprint toward the trees.

 

He didn’t know what he would find beyond the boughs or trunks, but the wind that came out of the city blowing against his back seemed to be calling him inward. The forest was young in comparison to Eryn Lasgalen, but the sound of Digby and Ned running behind him only made the experience that much more enjoyable. They were free in that moment. Beyond the confines of concrete and strange contraptions, Thranduil was gifted with something familiar that he could take root in and perhaps enjoy. The trees here that were shapely and fresh were not much different than the ones crafted by Yavanna. Thranduil made no complaint, simply pleased to enjoy the experience with the Pie Maker at his heels. They were barely friends, but it was easier to be lonely together as strangers than miserable apart as bitter acquaintances.

 

Ned hadn’t expected Thranduil to break into a run; startled, he stood dumbfounded until Digby tugged at his leash and barked. The noise sparked him back to himself, and Ned smiled too-- he took off after Thranduil with a childish laugh. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be as bad as the day had been. Running in the woods reminded him of those nights he’d been out with Emerson and Chuck, chasing down bad guys, or being the ones being chased. It was a thrill he’d never really enjoyed at the time, but when things had turned out for the better and the bad guy was in jail, the memory was worth the anxiety.

 

Ned watched with glee as Thranduil vaulted himself effortlessly into the branches above. Awestruck, Ned let go of Digby’s leash and craned his neck to see if he could spot Thranduil amongst the branches, only to catch a sudden glance of the Elvenking leaping into the next tree in acrobatic wonder. Ned had doubted that Thranduil really was an elf, that whole day he’d been wondering about checking mental institutions. But now, watching from the ground, Ned could see Thranduil as he was.

 

A Sindarin Elf. Weightless on his feet, ageless in his eyes glittering under the moon… and for just a second Ned swore that he could see a faint light coming from Thranduil himself, as if he was some star that had descended to them from the  sky. He realized a moment later that it was just the light of the moon reflected in Thranduil, lighting up his hair and the smile on his face, but it was no less wonderful than if Thranduil himself had been shining.

 

When Thranduil stopped his flight through the branches and chose a tall beech tree to clamber to the top of, Ned shrugged off his own coat to hang on a lower branch. He heaved himself up branch by branch until he was a few feet lower than Thranduil.

 

“Where are all of the stars…?”

 

The faint sound of devastation made Ned’s chest clench up with worry. Thranduil was staring off up into the blackness of the sky, and Ned realized that the light pollution blocked a whole array of the sky from their viewing. He could only assume that in Thranduil’s world, there were many more stars than they could see here.

 

“That’s not all of them,” Ned tried to comfort, shakily making his way up to match Thranduil on a branch parallel to him. “I mean… that’s just all that we can see right now. Because the city is so bright, we can’t see as many stars. That’s all. It’s kinda sad, but it’s not like they’re gone… you just can’t see them from here.”

 

Thranduil felt a strange comfort in Ned’s words.

 

“That’s right,” he murmured. Of all the things to comfort him, an analogy of the stars unable to shine without darkness was the thing that brought him back to himself. Though he wasn’t able to see or touch his kin, walk in his forest, or arrive yet on the shores of valinor, he could take some measure of comfort in knowing that they weren’t gone. If he’d come to this world, there must have been a way back to his own. He felt a new kindling of hope inside of him.

 

He sat on his branch with his hands neatly folded in his lap, and despite the amusement he felt for watching Ned try and navigate his tree branch like a blind elfling, he felt more for the fact that his cheeks were cold and damp from the tears that finally escaped him.

 

Ned could only sit in silence as Thranduil wept into his hands. He couldn’t offer an ounce of comfort, but there was a difference between crying in anguish and venting. Ned, not being a crier, had still seen it all. A lot of people cried in the Pie Hole. He’d seen people come through from break ups to abuse. Thranduil needed to cry, and all Ned could do was sit with him in silence and respect.

 

He made no sound as he cried, save for gentle gasps of air and shuddering breaths. Thranduil was grateful that Ned didn’t sit and simply stare at him while he let the dam burst, he was glad for the companionship of someone he didn’t know. Somehow he thought it would be harder to have cried in front of someone he was familiar with, but he still could not help but wish for Galion and his wisdom. His dear friend that had gently guided him through all of his worst hardships. It was finally then that Thranduil realized who Ned reminded him of.

 

His  gentle and earnest nature, if not a little awkward, was strongly reminiscent of his dear friend who’d passed.

 

“I think I would like to stay here a little longer,” Thranduil told Ned quietly, who didn’t reply to him beyond a solemn nod and a shaky smile.

 

Together they’d sat there for a good hour until Thranduil had calmed, and Ned didn’t mind it so much. His watch read out the time as 11:30 at night, and Digby was romping through the undergrowth below them chasing whatever moved. The sound of the woods was beginning to put Ned to sleep when Digby barked at someone coming down the path, nearly scaring him off his branch. The Pie Maker hardly had time to get up in the matter of seconds it took for Thranduil to descend from the tree, leaving him to find his own path down the wind rocked branches.

 

“Êl síla erin lû e-govaned 'wîn!” Thranduil cried out, approaching someone in the dark that Ned couldn’t see.

 

“Dear me! Good evening! Good evening!” A cheerful voice greeted Thranduil from below, accompanied by a less than enthusiastic grumble.

 

“Bilbo Baggins!” Thranduil gasped, “I have never in all my life been so glad to see a hobbit, and for that matter I’ve never been more inclined to attempt to embrace a dwarf!”


	4. Thither in the Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so um... The part in the middle might be confusing with Legolas, but it takes place when Thranduil was lost at sea. Just to be clear. I wanted to add it in an earlier chapter, but it seemed to kind of fuck up the flow of them. So I'm adding it here. 
> 
> Finally though, a little bit of conflict and plot beginning. 
> 
> Annnnd if you're one of those people that haven't read the books/The Silmarillion, I'm really sorry if this chapter got confusing.
> 
> http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Valinor Here's a link to what in the hell Valinor/Aqualondë/Tol Eressëa is  
> http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/lotr/images/c/ca/Aman_Valinor.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20060724044213 And here's a map of everything. 
> 
> Adar- Father  
> Mithrandir- Another one of Gandalf's names  
> Varda- http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Varda  
> Manwë-http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Manwe
> 
> A note: I'm still not sure whether or not I want to add Tauriel in this fic. I'm trying to stick closer to the books than the movies, but I'm taking elements of the Tolkien universe from all over the place. It's kind of a mishmash of facts and stuff, and I'm not even entirely sure if everything will be congruent with the canon timeline.

Thranduil sat beside the window watching the rain patter against the glass with an avid fascination. His finger curled around the handle of a delicate tea cup as he listened to the faint sound of talking around him. Bilbo Baggins was telling the tale ‘There and Back Again’, the story of how he and a company of dwarves had crossed Arda and fought the Dragon Smaug to take back the Lonely Mountain, Erebor. There was something comforting about listening to the story as told by his friend. It seemed so very long ago now that those events had taken place. So long since Bard had been alive, longer since the town of Dale had been destroyed. It seemed to him like a hundred years had passed merely between the time he’d arrived on Earth. Why, it had only been two weeks that had passed since he’d come to this world, and those two weeks had been a very tiring period of adjustment. 

 

Ned was much more fascinated by the story than the rain. The four of them, Thranduil, Ned, Bilbo, and Thorin sat around the semicircle table in Bilbo’s kitchen, eating breakfast and drinking tea. It wasn’t a Hobbit hole by any stretch, but it still had all of the comforts of home. The smell of food that had been cooking, and a fire at the hearth. Thranduil could almost swear he was back in Arda if he closed his eyes, though he couldn’t have imagined himself spending too much time with a Dwarf and a Hobbit. The words droned out of focus, and his mind wandered to what he would have been doing if his Kingdom was just as whole as it had been when Master Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield had passed through. 

 

“--Aye, and that great lug took us back to his castle and left us to rot in the dungeon,” Thorin snorted, and Thranduil was quick to deduce that they were at the part of the tale where the Dwarves had come all but smashing through the Woodland Realm in a ruckus that could wake the dead from their sleep.

 

“It would have been less intrusive for you to have sent word of your coming. Perhaps then you would not have been arrested for crashing through the trees and interloping on affairs of private importance.”

 

“What importance? If a party is what an elf calls important, then you must have lived a lavish life--”

 

“Now-- now that’s enough. You hear?” Bilbo elbowed Thorin sternly and set down his cup of tea. “We were trespassing on his land, if I do remember, and I do remember.”

 

Ned grinned a half grin at Thranduil over the table, and Thranduil could only offer a small simper in return. He had no need to justify his action, and as he saw it, Master Baggins had a clearer handle on the story. A less biased one than what would become of the bickering between an elf and a dwarf. Besides, Bilbo was a much better teller of tales than he, so Thranduil turned his gaze back to the rain on the window as the story went on.

 

Two weeks, and still there was no explanation for his coming to this land. In those two weeks Thranduil had seen a great many familiar faces that had been drawn in his history books. There were the sons of Fëanor, who-- all save Maglor-- seemed to have withdrawn from Maedhros. Though it was that some of those he came across remembered him not, there were a few who remembered very clearly the land of Middle Earth. Thorin’s nephews remembered him quite bitterly, but Thranduil was sad to say that Bard did not remember them at all. 

 

“It was no lavish life in the wood,” Thranduil suddenly interrupted, a thought occurring to him that brought him far out of Bilbo’s tale. “Regardless of the woe or wonder of it, there is no going back to it, is there?” His voice seemed far away from him, echoing in his ear like a sound in a tin. 

 

“Well-- no. No I fear there isn’t. Some have ventured for it, but there’s plenty enough to see here that the others seem more than rapt in exploring. It is an interesting world, and I’ll tell you Elvenking Sir, that if you go out your door you really must be careful. You don’t know just where your feet will lead you,” Bilbo laughed, lighting his pipe and sitting back in his chair. Thorin stabbed another sausage with his fork to plunk on his plate and gnaw away at, still grimacing at Thranduil with a hasty stare of hostility. 

 

“I wish I could have seen it,” Ned broke in, leaning his elbows on the table. “I mean-- the magic. Dragons. There isn’t any magic here. Not really. There’s science, and TV, and a lot of things that seem like magic, but it’s kind of lackluster. Something like that wouldn’t really happen here.” 

 

Thranduil looked at Ned strangely. The way Ned seemed so pessimistic about magic, his own gift no less, made him wonder if Ned even considered his gift a gift at all. It seemed that he treated it more like a curse and a burden than anything else. Whatever the case was, the Elvenking noted how easy it was for Ned to outright lie.

 

“And good for it!” Bilbo pointed his pipe at Ned, who sat back a tad stunned with his shoulders shrugged up to his ears. “You don’t want any dragons here I’ll tell you that much!”

 

“Aye, and I’ve had quite enough of orcs and goblins,” Thorin agreed. His fingers traced his salt and pepper beard before he stood to carry away the dishes under Bilbo’s firm gaze. 

 

“Though I’ve got to say I would quite like to see Rivendell just one more time. And hold my ring. Such a shame,” Bilbo looked suddenly older, Thranduil noticed. His heart quailed as he connected with the tales of the ringbearers. Bilbo, too, had been a bearer of such terrible evil at one time. He had carried it on his person through the darkened wood, and it had been over his heart ere the Battle of Five armies, and after too. Thranduil could not help himself as he stood and rounded the table. 

 

His slender hands set on either side of Bilbo’s chair as he leaned over the hobbit with a kind and welcoming smile. 

 

“Bilbo Baggins, you are better for having lost that ring a good long while ago,” he breathed with an air of nervousness. 

 

“Oh I do suppose you’re right-- you’re very right Elvenking sir--”

 

“Dear Bilbo I think we are long passed titles; perhaps it is time that we drop the formalities. If  not in death can we meet as equals, then when? Come now, let us both let go of what was,” he soothed. Thranduil placed his gentle hand between Bilbo’s shoulders and encouraged him to his feet. “Elves have ever loved the rain, come and stand with me out in it, and let us have a word of peace of this world. I fear my heart might need a breath of air that smells not of food or tea. It aches me, you see.”

 

“Ah yes, I do, I do. Hm-- hm. I suppose you’re right then,” Bilbo grabbed his jacket and an umbrella from the stand before he exited the front door with Thranduil to stand in the rain. 

 

Ned was left alone with Thorin, his fingers tracing the fair grain in the table as he listened to the sound of Thorin doing the dishes behind him. 

 

“So… what was this ring that everyone keeps talking about? It was kind of a big deal, huh?”

 

“Aye… It was a great and terrible thing, so I’ve heard,” Thorin grumbled as he mussed with the suds. “There were in the beginning, nineteen rings. There were three for the elves, seven for the dwarves, and nine for the race of men… but the commissioner of the Rings was a foul lord of magic, and he made one for himself so he might rule the hearts of the other ringbearers. It’s not a tale I know from start to end. You’d have to ask more from Frodo, but he’s sickly of late. I don’t think he would have the strength to talk of it, and I would thank you not to ask of it. The power of the Ring is a dastardly thing, and though it’s gone, its clutches and shadow still have influence on the lives it’s touched. Bilbo has not been the same. I knew him ere the ring fell on his finger.” 

 

Thorin stacked the plates and wiped his hands on a towel stained with what Ned could guess was grease-- he’d been told that Thorin was a mechanic now alongside his two nephews that they’d yet to meet. Thranduil had mentioned that he didn’t have any interest in getting together with the line of Durin for tea, but a cup with Bilbo Baggins was well worth any dwarf he would have to be in the company of. He made a note to ask Thranduil later what the deal was between elves and dwarves.

 

“Okay, don’t ask about the rings. Got it,” Ned nodded and stood up, feeling half bad that he hadn’t offered to help clean up. His manners had completely disappeared when they’d started talking about a completely different world. And as far as he could tell, this was like some sort of big secret. The people who had come from this world talked about it like it was all some shared dream they had all had together, and it wasn’t something they actively shared with the people of this world. Not that Ned could really blame them, humans here weren’t really the type to be overly friendly with new lands and new people. One look at the history books in America, and he was sure these elves, hobbits, and dwarves would run for the hills and never come back. 

 

If they had the option anyways. 

 

“So… You’re a dwarf. And a King. You and Thranduil are both Kings? And is Bilbo like some King of the Hobbits or something? I’m so confused. This is really a lot to take in you know-- you all kind of sound really a little bit-- okay a lot insane.”

 

Thorin eyed him up and down as if he was considering Ned’s words carefully, but instead of an answer he simply gave a gruff grunt and pushed passed the Pie Maker into the living room. 

 

“Wait, hang on. I’m being rude, I really didn’t mean to say that you were insane or anything. Just that this really sounds insane. You read about this kind of stuff in fantasy books, but it doesn’t actually exist. I wanted to be a Jedi when I was a kid, but that doesn’t really mean that I’m holding out for the Millennium Falcon, or Yoda to come teach me how to use the Force. It would be nice to be able to believe you guys-- but it’s kind of hard. That kind of stuff doesn’t exist here.”

 

“You’re right. It doesn’t, there is no magic in this world and you’d be right not to believe us, but that was our home. How much would you understand about it? Have you got any idea what it’s like to be torn out of your home, and fight for everything you love with your life on the line and die for it? And when you wake up you feel like it’s all for nothing? Can you answer that boy?” 

 

Ned glanced down at his feet and made a face down at his hands. 

 

“That’s not what I meant. I mean… I would like it to be real--”

 

“It doesn’t matter if it was or wasn’t. It feels real enough to the people who remember it.” Thorin sat himself in a great armchair and lifted his booted feet up to rest on the small stool; his creased brow certainly looked to Ned like one that could have held the weight of a crown, but he didn’t say anything else about it. 

 

Instead he looked around the home at the paintings that were hung on the walls. They held images of expansive mountain passes, deep green hills and valleys that were settled in trees. Ned stood in front of one that looked to him like a town on a lake. There were ships out in the water, and grey skies above were littered with dark clouds. It seemed a dismal sort of painting in the shadow of a towering mountain in the distance covered with lights.

 

“Did you paint these?” Ned looked over his shoulder at Thorin, who looked affronted by such a question. 

 

“Do I look like the sort that paints in their free time?”

 

“Uh...” Ned chose not to answer that, figuring that he could be wrong with either a yes or a no. The air felt thick and uncomfortable between Ned and Thorin, so it seemed that they came to a quiet and mutual agreement to ignore each other. Thorin took to reading the black covered book that had sat on the coffee table, and Ned busied himself by looking at the plethora of paintings on the walls. 

 

He stopped again to look at a painting of a dwarf with deep eyes and sharp eyebrows. He looked like Thorin, but with a shorted and better refined beard, blond and adorned with silver clasps and beads. He looked just as brave, fit with fine armor and gems on his hands. 

 

“Who is this? He looks kind of like one of those warriors that you read about. Was he one of the um-- what did you call yourselves?”

 

“The Company?”

 

“Yeah. What was his name?”

 

It was only then that Thorin finally smiled at Ned and set his book aside. Ned began to wonder if he was going to hear the tale of Thorin’s son, or maybe one of the two nephews that he’d heard so much about during the tale so far. A building excitement sparked up in his chest that reminded him a lot of how he used to feel when his mother was about to read him a story.

 

“That my lad, is Dís. One of the toughest dwarves under the mountain, brave of heart and kind in soul.”

 

“Dís?” Ned tried to remember the names of the company. He counted on his fingers as his mouth fell open in confusion. “I don’t think you mentioned him.”

 

“I didn’ mention Dís at all in the tale, no. She’s my sister,” Thorin snorted. “Fíli and Kíli’s dear mother--”

 

“That’s a woman?!” Ned spun on his heels to face the painting again, his mouth agape. “I mean-- Of course she is! I’m so sorry. I just assumed. I mean-- I didn’t know that they had beards. The women. Oh my god. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s all right lad, don’t choke on your tongue,” Thorin hefted himself out of the chair to stand beside Ned. Thorin barely came up to his chest when they stood side by side… he wondered if all dwarves were as tall as Thorin, because he’d always imagined them shorter. 

 

“Dís is very um-- she’s… she’s pretty.”

 

“‘Nough of that,” Thorin dismissed. “Dwarf men and women look a lot alike. Women are hard to come by, and they look near identical to their brethren. My sister was a creature of beauty and of fine blood. She married that git of a husband and had those two rambunctious nephews of mine, she wasn’t just my sister anymore. She became more beautiful the day she became a mother, and she became one of the most fearsome creatures of our people.  Some days I think we might have been better off if she had been part of the Company to recover Erebor, certainly things wouldn’t have ended the way that they did.”

 

“How did they end exactly? Because you guys are being kind of cryptic with all of this. Or it’s like you’re all talking and expecting me to follow  along, and I think I got lost somewhere between the guy who turns into a bear, and the giant spiders.”

 

“It ended in war, lad,” Thorin answered, then turned his head at the sound of Ned’s cell phone ringing in his pocket. 

 

“Oh!” Ned pat himself down from chest to hip searching for which pocket he’d placed his phone in, and then fumbled with the device as he squished it between his ear and shoulder. Ned held up his finger to Thorin as he rolled around the door frame into the next room. “Hello?”

 

“You better get down here, somethin’ goin’ down about somethin’,” Emerson told Ned from the other end. “You ain’t gonna wanna miss this, and don’t you bring that elf with you, I am warning you now boy you bring him down here and I’m out--”

 

“I’ll be there in-- wait, where’s here?”

 

“The Morgue.”

 

\----

  
  


Great grey shores opened up into the misty sea. The sound of gulls cried out on the wind, the smell of salt water filled the air and rode on the breeze. Word had spread through Tol Eressëa that a journey had been underway. It came to them by word from the birds of Arda, like whisperings. No one could be certain just when the ship with white sails would be seen on their horizon, but nonetheless a great gathering had been migrated to make greeting for the kin of the elves that would arrive at the docks. 

 

Among the great gathering of elves, there stood a figure much admired in Valinor. Legolas Thranduilion stood side by side with his much shorter but equally hailed friend, Gimli son of Gloin. No word passed between them, and though they listened to the music of the wave for near an hour at sunset every day, there came no ship on the horizon. 

 

“Maybe it was but a dream, hm?” Gimli tried to comfort the fears that shadowed in his friend’s grim features. Some days before, Legolas had fallen into a dark sleep that not even the Valar king Manwë could wake him from. Some terrible magic had been at work, and when Legolas woke to stare up into the face of Varda, he’d said not what his dreams had been of, for he had been so unsure of them. The whisperings of his sleep and the rumor of the ship had brought more excitement to their land than there had been in near half a century. But there were rumors too of the return of something terrible. 

 

“Aye… perhaps,” Legolas sighed, but still there was something he kept from his friend. An ever more present feeling of dread came upon him as dark clouds gathered at the edges of the mist. The star of Eärendil was no longer visible from the dock. 

 

“Gimli I fear some evil may be afoot again. Woe, it whispers to us on the wind. The waves sing not the song of life in their depths, they warn to us of something on the shores of Arda-- beyond. I have a terrible feeling. Can you not feel it too? It feels like the grim rot that ate the trees away. Does it not remind you of the Valley of the Dead?”

 

“Ah I’ve felt the coming of a storm for some days now. But I am not an elf; the dark cloud on the edge of the sea has lingered there for some time. Do you think the storm has hindered the envoy of the east?”

 

“I fear so. I wonder at it. Perhaps we should gather a party-- They could need aid. Never have the ships come to us so late after word of their departure. I’m concerned Gimli. It wasn’t just some horrible vision; I fear it was something more.”

 

“What more could come from the storm than the storm itself?”

 

“There are dark terrors in the world still. Things older than you or I. We might not be able to estimate it yet; should we seek council from the Valar? Or should we seek it elsewhere from the Kings? Nay-- maybe other warriors on the shores? Surely it can’t just be you and I feeling this way. It has been quiet, and nothing good ever comes from too much quiet for too long.”

 

Gimli was still for a moment more to think. There were matters to be considered, and it would be too rash to simply take a ship and set sail out toward a storm. Some of the seafarers might be eager to help them; it might be a difficult flight to rescue the kin at odds in the storm. If there even was a ship in the thick of it. They simply couldn’t be sure. 

 

“I think they would better listen to your words than mine. It was you who had the terrible night vision of doom and gloom. Last there was some prophecy from an elf there came a war and we were in the middle of it!”

 

Legolas nodded; he listened truly to his friend, but his heart called out to the sea in the same way it had when he’d felt the sea longing for the first time at the cry of the gulls. The need to go home was strong and it compelled him to move his feet, and for the first time in a very long while, Legolas was urged to send a letter to his father in the Woodland Realm. His heart felt sick for the trees, and he thought to himself that perhaps he should go and speak with Nienna to ease his mind in its need for home. 

 

“I will meet with you again another time Gimli, I fear that the next steps I must take will be ones of my own. My heart is heavy to part with you, and it is not that my trust in you wavers, but familiarity might be a friendly hand to us, I would ask of you to seek out and speak to the Lady Galadriel, I think I know who I must speak to of terrible dreams. Though, I think my luck in finding him might be thin to nothing. Do you know where or whether there might be word of Mithrandir?”

 

“Nay,” Gimli laughed, setting a large hand on his stomach. “Your eyes might be able to see the blond on the heads of a hundred Rohirrim riders, but not even your keen eye will be able to seek him out here, Legolas. I think it would be wiser of you to come with me to see the Lady. Gandalf might have lead us back in Middle Earth through great peril, but I think that the Lady Galadriel has better insight to the needs of your heart and the shadow of your mind.”

 

“Perhaps you are right, Gimli, but there is something inside of me telling me that this is what needs to be done.”

 

“Then why not do one and then the other? We might even be so lucky as to find him with her, it is said they have a great friendship.”

 

“When was it that you became wiser?”

 

“I’ve always been the wiser one! You’ve got the years on you master Elf, but you haven’t got the experience and wit of a dwarf,” Gimli teased with a rough jab of his elbow into Legolas hip. Where quite normally Legolas would be less grim and more prone to tease back at his friend, his heart grew ever heavier as he spotted an albatross in the sky. What word there was to be of the storm might go to Manwë from the birds. He supposed that his great journey had given him an over-entitled purpose for adventure, but still he would keep his heart open. 

 

“You’re right Gimli. I will go with you to see Lady Galadriel… but then I must seek out Gandalf. I can’t tell you what purpose these needs come from, but I feel a path laid out before me.”

 

“I can see it in you,” Gimli confirmed. “A shame that Aragorn isn’t along to help us with it. How I would have loved but another quest with you both here.”

 

No more words passed between them as they boarded a ship to make the journey to Aqualondë from Eressëa. The night was dark and the sea was choppy when they arrived at the shore and docked their boat. Lamps were lit outside of homes, and the mountains that separated the city from Valimar shadowed over them. Through the dark Legolas could see the sky splashed with many twinkling lights. His heart ached again for the storm on the horizon seemed to be drawing nearer to them. 

 

As soon as they were in the city, Legolas found himself a messenger bird and tied to it a message for Galadriel to meet with them, and made his plea as urgent as a short message could allow. His unrest became greater as something within him seemed to ever dwindle, and Legolas found himself moved to feeling glassy eyed.

 

His breath caught in his throat in the dark as he felt the very moment that his Adar’s life slipped away. The unrest he’d been feeling and the terrible storm they’d seen had been but the very beginning of an awful omen. It seemed to Legolas as if the sound of the city was more or completely silent with the feeling of emptiness falling on him. The connection that Legolas had to his father had been cut away so suddenly that he’d not realized just what he’d been feeling until it was over. He felt it in his very essence that Thranduil had perished at sea, a feeling he could not explain. The emotion overwhelmed him nontheless, and tears poured over his cheeks.

 

“I am wounded!” He cried out, and dropped to his knees in the road covering his heart; a sound that made Gimli turn in his tracks with an expression of deep and utter shock.

 

“Who would dare?! In such a city-- where are you wounded? Somebody bring us some aid!”

 

“No,” Legolas lifted his hand to grip at Gimli’s in his own. “It is a wound of my heart, Gimli, my Adar is dead. I can feel it. The ship will not make it to Tol Eressëa. They are doomed. The dream! The dream! Gimli it was foreshadowed! My Adar is dead! Curses! The Albatross! The bringer of death on the sea! The Albatross! Woe, Gimli I am wounded,” he wept bitterly.

 

\----

 

“I’m not touching that.” Ned grimaced at the body stuffed into a barrel. The barrel was filled with a gelatinous ooze and a bloated body of someone with their throat cut open. The someone in the barrel was one high profile lawyer Martin Barrett. He’d been on the news as a missing person for a week now, and by the state of the body, Ned guessed he’d been dead a little longer than that. The smell that permeated the air made him visibly uncomfortable.

 

“I told you I don’t want to do this anymore. The last time we did this I ended up with an elf in my spare room and a dwarf and a hobbit over for tea. I’m getting really uncomfortable with this whole-- whole--”

 

“Yeah this guy’s stuck in a barrel and his legs ain’t working. Information we get about this guy lands us with a $75000 reward. Seems an open and shut case how he died. That cut on his neck isn’t just a love bite.”

 

“And how do you think he’s going to be able to talk with his neck cut open like that?”

 

“Just touch him.”

 

“He’s gooey.”

 

“So you wash your hands after. Touch him,” Emerson deadpanned. 

 

Ned’s shoulders sagged in defeat; he set his watch for the allotted 60 seconds then poked the guy’s shoulder. He groaned as his finger came away with a good portion of slime on it, and no reaction from the dead guy. Too much grime for skin to skin contact. Mournfully, Ned grabbed one of the rags to wipe some of the slime clear from the waxy dead skin, then reset his watch tried again. 

 

This time Martin Barrett came to life, moaning his displeasure loudly and puking blood and ooze into his barrel. 

 

“Good lord,” Emerson groaned and covered his nose with a handkerchief. 

 

“Hi, I don’t really have time to explain this but you’re dead. Murdered. Um, you have a little less than a minute to tell us any last thoughts or wishes, but it would be really great if you could start with who killed you.”

 

As Ned suspected, Martin Barrett’s mouth and throat were too full of gunk and slime to be of any use to him. To both Ned and Emerson’s surprise, Martin began to sign to them. With stiff hands Ned could barely make out what was being charaded to him from a dead man stuck in a barrel. His fingers didn’t move very well, and when they did they cracked and creaked making Ned and Emerson cringe. 

 

“I think he said… Melmer? M E L M… I can’t make it out.”

 

“No. That’s a K. I think that was a K. M E L K.”

 

“Thirty seconds,” Ned squawked, stepping from one foot  to the next, more than eager to touch this guy and be done with this whole mess. Admittedly it was going a lot better than it had with Thranduil. Ned’s mind began to wander back to that time two weeks ago when he’d been staring down into Thranduil’s dead and pale face. He’d been glad to learn that the Elvenking did have some light and color in his face when he was alive. His cheeks would go red with embarrassment when he felt as though he was asking silly questions, and his eyes would light up exponentially when Bilbo would talk about the Shire. 

 

Ned realized he’d been daydreaming, and in a short panic he looked at his watch to find five seconds left. With a yelp, he reached out and touched the guy again. Martin went back to sagginging in his sludgy barrel, and Ned wrinkled his nose again as a thin line of slime came with his finger. 

 

“What did he say? I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t mean to not pay attention but I was thinking about… someone.” 

 

“Uhuh… He spelled out M E L K O R. I ain’t got a clue what that means. You got any idea?”

 

“No. Nothing. I have nothing. I’ve never heard of him, or her, or it, whatever it is. We can look it up when we get back to the Pie Hole, but I think I’d like to get out of here. As much as I really don’t like to disrespect the dead, the smell is kind of getting to me a little bit.”

 

“Yeah  you and me both.” Emerson moved for the door, but Ned paused by the barrel as he noticed a few bubbles rising out of the barrel. 

 

“Wait, I think there’s something in there.” Ned craned his neck to look down into the brown sludge, squinting to see if he could spot anything without having to root around.

 

“It’s probably some gas. Corpses fart. Don’t wanna get too close to him I’m thinking. Come on Pie Boy, we got work to do.” 

 

Ned was about to respond when he noticed the body shift and lift toward the surface of the barrel. Tiltiing his head, he suddenly realized what was about to happen and jumped back, but not in enough time not to get splattered with gelatinous brown goo from the distended and exploded stomach of the victim. Ned’s whole body tensed as he closed his eyes and drew his lips into a line. 

 

“I think I have evidence on me. I have evidence on me-- oh god. Oh my god.” Ned shivered from head to toe, and Emerson made a face at him.

 

“On second thought, you stay here with Martin and clean up. I’ll get to work and you come find me after you shower. Told you you shoulda not got too close. Now you got gooed. And ya ain’t gettin’ in the car until you got ungooed,” Emerson put his hat back on his head and stepped out of the room. 

 

It took Ned about 30 minutes with the help of the mortician to get the grime off of him and any evidence that might be needed. Unfortunate enough to have to give up his shirt, Ned ended up walking home uncomfortably cold and embarrassed. For someone who preferred to go unnoticed, he sure got a lot of looks on his way back to the Pie Hole. One uncomfortable taxi ride later (to save some of his pride), he found himself climbing the stairs to his apartment.

 

“I see that your trip with Emerson went well,” Thranduil greeted from outside of his own apartment door. Ned stiffened up, shoving his hands awkwardly in his pockets. 

 

“I got gooed,” he mumbled, pulling his keys out of his pocket to unlock his door. 

 

“Yes I see. Your job seems to be quite messy, but somehow I don’t think that’s pie filling in your hair, Pie Maker. You smell of death again.” Thranduil brought his own coat up around his shoulders. It was no cloak, but it was certainly warm and soft. He had to hand it to Ned; the material he’d chosen had been of high quality, and although it wasn’t in a style that he was used to, he was grateful for the gift of clothing he’d been brought as he was still too poor to afford anything on his own terms. 

 

But Ned was less focused on the coat Thranduil wore, and more focused on how much brighter Thranduil seemed now as compared to the day they met. His face seemed fuller, and his eyes lit up with the reflection of the afternoon sun. 

 

“I need to uh-- I’ve gotta get in the shower. You’re welcome to come in. Oh-- the… the um. The apartment. You can come in the apartment if you want. While I shower. I think there’s um… there should be a couple movies you might like to watch or something while I’m out or-- or you might have plans of your own because you’re totally not a kid and don’t need looking after. Sorry.”

 

Thranduil straightened up and narrowed his eyes only slightly as he tried to follow the path that Ned’s mind made that lead him to spewing out the confusing set of words that Thranduil had been given to work with. 

 

“I was going to make dinner tonight myself, so I thought that I would go to the market down the road. Then I remembered that I have no currency, so Bilbo loaned me a few things from his garden on the terms that I bring him some of what I make with it. I was wondering if you would allow me to use your kitchenware and stove.”

 

“Oh-- yeah. Yeah go ahead,” Ned pushed his way into the apartment and took an exaggerated and careful step over Digby before he walked down the hallway toward the bathroom. Thranduil followed into the apartment, Ned’s dog at his heels and a bag of vegetables in his hands.

 

Bilbo grew an extraordinary garden, and though it had been raining earlier, he was more than happy to get his hands dirty on Thranduil’s behalf. Together they’d harvested some carrots, potatoes, onions, celery, and even some beets that he thought might be a wonderful side dish to a stew. He’d been very grateful for Bilbo being such a selfless person, and had thanked him thrice over for being so helpful.

 

‘Nonsense! Bah! Nonsense!’ Bilbo had said in his good nature. ‘We all need a bit of help when we first get here I think. Bit of good companionship and a spot of good tea.’ 

 

He’d been right of course; his misery had easily become lessened with a good friend to count on, and not just in the form of Bilbo Baggins. Ned’s companionship had been more than welcome, if not a little awkward at times. He was a good man who got up early to bake, and came home late after closing. Ned was a hard worker, Thranduil noticed, and when he took time for himself he was reserved and forlorn, but still good company nonetheless. 

 

Even Thorin Oakenshield seemed less severe on Earth than he had standing before him on a quest to recover his home land. Here, he seemed more than content to tinker with cars and other automobiles. He seemed to like to fix radios, work with his hands, build houses and carve stone. It had been Thorin who had given him a ride back to the Pie Hole, even though Thranduil had insisted that he was more than capable of walking. They’d come to a stalemate when Bilbo had asked if he knew the way. 

 

Still, it had been a silent and tense affair between them, and Thranduil had refused to open his eyes again while travelling, and he was quite sure that  Thorin had purposely gone over the speed limit to make him expressly uncomfortable. It was in no way as tense as their acquaintanceship could have been should they both still have had crowns on their brow. On equal ground with no land to call their own between them, it was simply uncomfortable. Thranduil could still find himself able to come to trust Thorin, if only because Bilbo put so much faith in them both.

 

Strange seemed Thorin and Bilbo’s relationship together, living in the same home so closely. As Thranduil cut and washed the vegetables, he wondered to himself if the King Under the Mountain was taken with Bilbo Baggins, or if their friendship was much like that of the friendship between his son and Gimli. 

 

Thranduil let go of such thoughts as he pulled forth pots and pans, and what looked like all that he would need. With it all laid out on the counter ready to cook, Thranduil realized that he had no recipe to work from, and though he’d been okay with cooking simple meals, he’d never made stew before. Galion had done the cooking for him, and Legolas from time to time. He’d been too busy himself to learn the art of cooking something beyond roasted meat or salads. He took delight in elegantly prepared dishes, but hadn’t bothered in all his long life to learn any of it. And now standing before the dishes and vegetables, he wished that he had. 

 

“No matter,” he laughed to himself, then looked over the books that Ned had on the counter. Cookbooks. They had pictures of food on the front, and he was sure he would find recipes inside. But when he opened the book, he found not but strange script. English, and Thranduil found he couldn’t read it. It was strange to him that he could even understand and speak it. Bilbo had explained that most who came to Earth had a sudden understanding of English as a spoken language if they had had some knowledge of Westron. 

 

It hadn’t been known why, but Cam had later confirmed that he’d had to do much more learning than he’d cared to admit after his own arrival. That did not comfort Thranduil one bit as he glared down at the cookbook as if his will alone might set it on fire or get it to speak. Thranduil had neglected yet to tell Ned that he couldn’t read his language. The niggling embarrassment of feeling so outcast made his heart sink as he closed the book and set it back on the counter where it belonged. 

 

Feeling the slow shadow of defeat on his shoulders again, Thranduil leaned his elbows on the counter and stared down at his vegetables. Instead of becoming too woe about it all, he opened Ned’s fridge to see what was sorted inside. There were no stores of meat, which made sense as Ned couldn’t eat any. There were other strange fruits and cakes and-- of course pie. 

 

That didn’t dampen Thranduil’s resolve. He opened cupboards high and low until he found flour, rice, wine, cheese, and milk. All things that he found himself familiar with. The cheese, milk, and flour might make a sauce. It would go all right on top of rice, he supposed. Though, that didn’t sound very appetizing on its own,  nevermind the fact that he hadn’t the slightest idea which portions he was to use-- and these were Ned’s ingredients. Not his own. 

 

Quietly, he put away the things he’d found and glared again at the vegetables on the counter. 

 

“Um… I don’t think they cook themselves,” Ned joked from the doorway, using a towel to dry off his hair. He smelled considerably better than he had before, and looked much more comfortable in his long sleeved black shirt and loose jeans. 

 

“I… I’m not sure what to do with them,” Thranduil said as he looked at the piles of neatly chopped ingredients. 

 

“Do you not know how to um… You can’t really cook, can you? I mean most of the time when I come over you’re eating bowls of cereal. Or… toast. And an Egg. I can teach you if you want.”

 

“I am hopelessly obvious aren’t I Pie Maker?” Thranduil smiled light heartedly, and let his woe disappear at the prospect of being taught a skill he previously lacked. It would be helpful to be able to make his own meals instead of eating raw fruit and bread day in and day out. 

 

“A little,” Ned replied with a light hearted shrug of his shoulders. He grabbed a pan and a pot and got to work. The potatoes were boiled and mashed, the vegetables were fried in butter with patience and care, and to top off the meal, Ned baked flakey dinner biscuits with cheese inside of them. The whole meal took less time to cook than Thranduil had imagined, and by the time the table was set, he found that his mouth was watering in anticipation. It had been weeks since he’d had anything so lovely. Ned even cracked open two beers for them to have with their food. As promised, Thranduil covered a plate for Bilbo to have when they would meet up the next day. 

 

“Thank you Ned, you have my sincere gratitude for helping me through these harsh times. I wish I had more than words to repay you with. My heart is heavy, for you’ve done so much for me. You’ve given me life and shelter, and now you are offering your service as a teacher.”

 

“No, don’t thank me. Really. It’s just good to have some company that doesn’t scowl at me like I just stabbed him in the leg or something.” Ned pushed his food around on his plate. His phone buzzed on the table next to him, but he ignored it. Emerson had told him to go home and take a shower, what did it matter if he stopped to eat first before he came back? How many people really got to sit and eat with a King? 

 

Whether or not Ned believed their story or not was still up in the air. He wanted to. Even with the evidence in front of his face, Thranduil simply seemed too good to be true. He was kind, and he spoke with such a passion about the Woodland Realm. There was so much about this world that he wanted to know, and there were so many stories he was sure that Thranduil would be able to tell. 

 

“You could repay me. If you want. I mean… you don’t really have anything but stories from your world, but I like hearing them. There have to be a whole bunch of them. You’re like a million years old aren’t you?”

 

“Six thousand  and  a few centuries,” Thranduil corrected smoothly. 

 

“You could tell me about your home.”

 

“I could offer some tale of Eryn Lasgalen, but you’ve heard an awful lot of my past, Pie Maker, and I’ve heard so very little about yours. Information may be all I’ve got, but I think I would rather keep some things closer to my cuff. It is a very powerful currency to deal in, and there are just some things I believe you shouldn’t know. Even about the trees from whence I came.”

 

“There isn’t really a lot to know about me. I bring the dead back to life and I bake pie. And sometimes I go around distributing almost vigilante justice on people who break the law. Except I don’t kill people on purpose.” Ned stabbed one of his carrots rather viciously and poked at his plate with it.

 

“That’s who you are now, but who were you ere you became Pie Maker, server of justice? You’ve spoken of a girlfriend. And there are pictures around your home. There is someone you miss too, is there not?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ned sighed nervously, his voice taking on a higher octave than it had just a moment ago. “It’s kind of traumatic. Oh, I see. You wouldn’t really want to talk about your traumatic past either.”

 

“No,” Thranduil smiled, then swallowed down a mouthful of cheese biscuit. “But I can tell you about other things. Perhaps not tonight, as it still pains me to think of the world I can no longer return to. Ned, your device seems adamant for your attention.” Thranduil nodded his head toward Ned’s phone. 

 

“Yeah, I’m supposed to go back to work,  but the thing is I kind of don’t want to. I quit being a Private Investigator a while ago, but I apparently didn’t really, because then I wouldn’t be doing this against my will. It’s good for me, kind of cathartic. Will you be all right without me? You’ll lock the apartment after you go right? Speaking of payment, if you really wanted, you could take Digby for a walk. We could call that even for dinner tonight. I know he likes you, and you can touch him.”

 

Thranduil listened with a careful ear. Part of him didn’t wholly believe that Ned didn’t want to go back to work. There was a light in him that seemed to yearn for adventure, and it was one that he’d seen in his son long before he’d taken that fateful message to Imladris. He let go of a soft exhale and watched Ned get up from the table and head for the door.

 

“I can do that, yes. It would be good for us both I think,” Thranduil pat Digby’s head carefully and smiled down at his newfound friend. 

 

Ned grabbed his phone and his jacket, but paused in the doorway. He could hear the sound of a fork still clinking against a plate. His heart sunk down in his chest as his phone vibrated once more in an insistent need to pull him away. He knew what it was like to eat all alone, and be in a strange place with a homesick need in his heart. Ned felt guilty; he was starting to really enjoy Thranduil’s friendship. 

 

He felt himself hesitate at the door, debating the option of texting Emerson and spending the night talking to Thranduil. But there was someone out there killing people, and if he could help with catching a killer, then he probably should. Ned resolved to come home as soon as he was able and talk to Thranduil more, to get to know him. 

 

With a regretful huff, Ned turned away from the warm apartment, an early supper, and a new friend, and closed the door behind him with a heavy heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is a specific character you want to see/want mentioned from the Tolkien Lord of the Rings/Hobbit/Silmarillion/Lost Tales series, please let me know and I'll consider it. If there are characters you want to see from Pushing Daisies, let me know about that too. 
> 
> I'm also really sorry that the ending of this chapter is a bit rushed OTL  
> I felt like I was starting to ramble too much so I wrapped it up.


	5. Wishful Thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good god. I wasn't going to update tonight. I was going to wait until Sunday because I'm just so damn tired all the time. But I stayed up to write this chapter, and it's like 5 in the morning omfg.
> 
> For the Non Silmarillion readers, I tried to make the beginning of the story as easy to understand as I could. 
> 
> Aulë - http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Aul%C3%AB  
> Melkor - http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Melkor  
> Vása-   
> the consumer  
> Vása noun "the Consumer", a name of the Sun (MR:130, Silm) [This is not actually the sun, just borrowing the name]

The smell of ash and blood permeated the air in a humid waft through the dusty building. The rattling of flimsy windows echoed the expanse of the warehouse like a lonesome tune. A sole figure sat relaxed on a crate, humming a dismal melody to himself. Dusk had set down over Papen County, and still he waited for his partner to join him at the rendezvous. His hands were worn at the palms from centuries of hard done work, toying at his dark hair to tie back out of his eyes; eyes that glimmered like coals being brought to life by the breath of a breeze. The fresh flecks of blood on his dark skin were growing cold, and he was beginning to think that his meeting would need postponing, or gentler courting than three corpses.

 

There was unmistakable glee in his grin as the door opened into the warehouse, and he could hear the sweep of delicate feet across the cement floors. A man stood before him, maybe 6’2 with hair that looked so red that it might light its own fire. This man’s eyes to him were like cracked quartz, golden crumbles of ember that bored into the towering adversary with such relentless malice that it reminded him of the old days.

 

Back when they were both in the forges of Aulë, and the sweltering air had tasted like hot metal.

 

“You are late,” the first breathed to the other to be met only with rigid silence. “Oh come now Mairon, don’t give me that look. Your fate was not of mine undoing, it was unto yourself your actions came down around you,” Melkor hissed. The reticence that continued from Mairon quickly became palpable as he looked around the room. The corpse hanging from the ceiling was a truly unpleasant garnish to an already crude scene. Mairon grimaced with vexation.  The days of Mordor had passed, and further behind them the days of Angband. The absence of the savagery of the orcs had been both a blessing and a relief, for their stupidity and dankness had in the later days been driving Mairon to be cantankerous. The room smelled like burning hair to him, and it reminded him of the times he would spend with Melkor in their first days of creating beasts foul and terrible. Still, he was going to smell like ash for days, and keeping a pleasant facade was already infuriating in this world. 

 

“You could at least try to cover up your tracks a little bit. As far as I’ve seen, humans are much better at deducing a scene of a crime than the primitive imps in Eä. I don’t much care for being a formless mass in the void; I would be much better gratified if we could stay a little less obvious. Especially for casual meetings and more casual partings afterward. Men in this realm meet for coffee.”

 

“I didn’t do this.” Melkor set a hand over his chest with a nonplussed expression, and after a second thought, Mairon believed him. The more his glance played the room, the more he took note of just how sloppy the corpses had been left. Like a hack and slash frenzy rather than the calculation of a mighty lord bent on the suffering before his prey expired. They’d been taken with such vindictiveness that it was a subtle line between the hate in Melkor’s heart and the underlying sickness of humanity. Mairon had learned quickly the difference between the two. Blending in had ever been a specialty of his, and he perhaps knew Melkor just as well as Melkor knew his heart and could turn it over between his thumb and forefinger. 

“No, I simply witnessed it. From the shadow and grim, I watched him slaughter these men. The power it gave him was but what was expected. I’ve always loved the intimate tinkering that goes on inside of your mind Mairon. It’s why you were chosen, don’t you remember? A ring. They would expect that again wouldn’t they? They would be wary of a jewel or piece that would grant them power but it was that dreadful creation of yours that gave me the idea.”

 

“You bastard,” Mairon hissed, the veins in his arms beginning to illuminate his anger in an uncontrolled surge of power. “How dare you insult it! You would know nothing! Your search for power and lust for those jewels drove your mind from your body and you were cast into shadow! And lo! I yet stayed faithful! I marched your troops and carried out your purpose! Dreadful? Dreadful?! What right does Morgoth have to deem my creation dreadful! It served its purpose! It was a worthy weapon until it was cloven from my very hand! My precious-- my ring was not a thing to be wielded by-- by rats from the shire! If things had gone my way the fall of Middle Earth and realms beyond would have been swift and vicious!” Mairon-- Sauron he became in that moment-- grabbed Melkor by the throat and swung him to the wall with the pads of his fingers burning bruises into the flesh of the Vala. “It was not the fault of the ring that brought my end--”

 

“No, t’was your arrogance,” Melkor spat back, but made no move to brush away the offended Maiar. “But the mistakes of the past won’t be made again now will they? Not with that brilliant mind of yours. Arrogance won’t be our crux--”

 

“Our? You speak to me of arrogance? Us? I came to meet you as requested, but this brutal scene only shows that not a thread of you has changed. I won’t be subject of you again nor your madness.” Mairon, or rather, Sauron withdrew his hand from Melkor’s throat. 

 

“Oh,” a condescending curiosity came over Melkor as he leaned over Sauron. A cruel smile stretched his lips until they cracked into a toothy grin. “I see. You’re angry with me for choosing the Silmarils over you, aren’t you? You’re still-- what is the expression these humans use…? Pissed. Jealousy is an ugly shade on you Mairon. You were always a lieutenant worthy of the position. But you were just that. A lieutenant. A title you founded for yourself, and what would you do now in this world? Start over? Go back to being an innocent little smith in a shop?”

 

“I want none of your plans; jealousy motivates me not. The desire to keep a corporeal form is a much less irksome path than that of your schemes. What would come of it? Madness again? Nay. Spare me the quarrel of ex lovers, for we were nothing of the like. Keep your schemes and I shall keep to my own. Get gone and stay gone, I survived ages on without you and I will do so again.”

 

Sauron spun on his heel, stepping hastily over the wasted body on the ground to make an exit, a wave of his hand slamming shut the metal doors behind him in a flurry of sparks and temper.

 

\-----

 

“This looks um…” Ned and Emerson stood in the door of the violent crime scene. Blood had been mercilessly spattered all over the walls, the place smelled terribly like burned hair, and the air inside felt dank and unbearably stale. The bodies at the morgue hadn’t been able to tell them anything about what had happened. Nobody had seen the faces of their killers. The murders themselves had been quite brutal, and Ned had hesitated to touch them back to life. At least they didn’t seem to be in much pain, even if they were very unhappy about being dead. The bodies had been able to tell them the names of the people present, save for the killer; it had also been made known that the bodies that were recoverable were crooks. Two drug dealers and a low level thief that had been to  jail a couple of times. The only problem was that the morgue seemed to be short a body from what they’d learned.

 

“Looks like they pissed off the wrong people, that’s what it looks like,” Emerson finished. The two of them had gotten the all clear from the cops to look through the crime scene, and Ned had almost wished that he’d stayed home. The amount of blood on the ground was unnerving to say the least. The clean up crews would be there in the morning, so this was their only opportunity to look around. It had taken a favor to postpone that long, and another ten or so to even get them in to have a look around.

 

The warehouse was out of use, and it had been for weeks now. The place had been a storage for a large international pharmaceutical company, but they’d needed to upsize. Somewhere between the buying and selling of property, it’d become a rather popular hang out spot for the criminal degenerates of Papen County. But not anymore, Ned supposed. 

 

He knelt down carefully beside one of the crates, eyes scanning the dust on the ground for anything that might be useful to them.

 

“Isn’t this um… a little bit above our pay grade? I get that we solve murders, but I think this kind of goes beyond what we normally do. You know? I feel a little bit like we’re going to get in trouble just being here. Like one of those mob shows where you wind up at the bottom of the lake,” Ned grumbled, tilting his head up to look at the rafters. Emerson made a noncommittal sound at him that let Ned  know that they weren’t going to be backing out after all of the work that had gone into getting them there. “You know there might be a point where the reward really isn’t worth the trouble.”

 

“This ain’t just about the money no more. You get a case like this once in a life, and you help solve it your name gets out there. This is networking, high profile, high payout.” 

 

“Yeah, and it’s not going to be worth it if we get caught up in the middle of something that we can’t get out of. Isn’t it a little… okay… Is it just me or are there a lot more dead bodies around than normal? This kind of stuff wasn’t happening a couple of months ago. People were still murdering each other, but it wasn’t violent like this. This is just… sad.” Ned stood up again and hugged himself around the shoulders.

 

“So long  as there are people ‘round, people will always go killin’ each other,” Emerson said ruefully. He shone his light toward a set of steps and started heading up. Ned looked around the center of the room where most of the tape had been. There were traces of the homicide investigation still, and signs of movement from where they’d had to use a ladder to untie a guy from the ceiling. Ned stopped when his shoe scuffed the ground.

 

He looked down and realized that there was an unusual amount of dust lying around the center of the room. Granted, the place wasn’t exactly clean, but something didn’t seem right. Ned’s chest tightened, and he dropped down to his knee to brush his fingers along the ground. 

 

A shot of golden sparks fanned out across the room, and Ned reeled back in horror. He’d just touched something back to life. The ground? The dust? Something he couldn’t see? His gift was bringing something back and he really wasn’t ready for what would happen next. He let out a cry when a sudden gust of wind raked through the metal doors, making them crash and bang against the siding. Abruptly, the ash and dust that coated the room began to spin and circle in a small cyclone that had Ned backing away. In a panic, he set his watch and dove to get away from the form of dust that whipped up through the stairwell to stand above the lower level of the warehouse. The dust-- ash, Ned now realized-- was gathering into the tall shape of something humanoid, and that was when he realized that he had found the other body. When it was done assembling itself, a fire lit inside of its eyes and it let out an unearthly screech. 

 

“What in the hell is that thing?! What did you do?!” Emerson stumbled down the stairs and backed toward the doors as they slammed shut. 

 

“I found the body, that’s him-- that’s it. He’s-- oh my god I don’t know. I touched the floor and all this dust- it just- I think he was burned alive oh my god I don’t know what’s happening,” Ned stood completely petrified, unable to completely process what he’d done. The creature-- it had to be human, right? No, it couldn’t be now-- it towered over them for a good 20 seconds before it spoke, and Ned wished with all his might that it hadn’t said anything at all. Its voice surrounded them and seemed to echo from every direction.

 

_ “Voices of the doomed shall ring again from the void and all shall cower before him. The end will come and no mortal weapon will bring his doom. The realm of the lost again will  be found; hail the lord of the void. Hail! No light shall there be in the dark, no hope. Kneel now and beg for the mercy of death.” _

 

Neither men spoke but let an eerie silence fall over the room. Emerson raised his hands to show that he had no weapon and slowly began to crouch. 

 

“What are you doing?!” Ned hissed, but Emerson didn’t answer, it was like his eyes had gone vague and blank. The creature cackled a sinister sound from a body with no lungs, puffing fire and smoke from its mouth as it assailed them from above. It dove through Ned, despite his attempt to run-- he might have made it out of the way had he not been trying to drag Emerson to his feet and move, but it was like some sort of trance had fallen over him. Was this the magic that everyone had been talking about? Or had he done this? Was he responsible for this thing?

 

But just as quickly as it had started, it was over again. The creature of dust and malice collided with Ned, knocking him back onto his ass. Blue sparks shot out from his body and the creature returned to nothing but ash. Emerson made a gagging noise, and soon he was losing his lunch on the warehouse floor. Ned sat shaking and cowering, his arms raised in an attempt to protect his face from whatever was coming after him. How had they made it out of that alive?

 

“Emerson?” Ned scrambled to his feet once he realized that they were alone in the room. He hovered around his friend, looking for signs that he was going to be okay. He’d never seen Emerson so shaken before. If he had been a lesser man, he might have shot out an ‘I told you so’, but Ned stuck to the gratification of only saying it in his head.

 

“We have to get out of here. Come on. Before we run into another… what was that? A ghost? Emerson, come on get up,” he moved around to see his friend’s face, only to go pale. Emerson’s eyes were rolled into the back of his head. 

 

“Ohmygodohmygodwhathtehellisgoingon?!” Ned fumbled for his phone with the idea to call 911 finally in his head, but at the sound of a crash he dropped the phone on the ground, shattering the screen when the doors flung open again. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin, but in an act of what was either bravery or stupidity, Ned put himself between the door and Emerson Cod. 

 

A rather tall blond stood in the doorway, kind brown eyes met with Ned’s and the Pie Maker could see the amount of fear they held. His blond hair was drawn back so that Ned could see the pointed ears adorned with bright gold earrings and beautiful gems. This guy looked like a prince. 

 

“Please stand back,” he told Ned, then rushed to Emerson’s aid. The guy kneeled beside Emerson and put his slim, pale hands on Emerson’s cheeks, none too gentle in his observations. The only sound in the warehouse aside from the wind outside was the gentle slapping that this elf was doing trying to bring Emerson back to his senses. Ned had no idea if he was able to trust this stranger, but with his phone broken, it was their best shot at pulling Emerson back from whatever the hell had happened to him. “I’ve called for an ambulance. I feared that this might happen. Sometimes such things linger around the sites of tragedy. Whatever brought it here must have been some powerful Maiar.”

 

“Um… that was… I think it was me,” Ned admitted. “I touched this pile of ash and it jumped up and- and it became this ghost. Ghosts aren’t supposed to exist but then really elves aren’t supposed to either and you’re an elf. Aren’t you? Not a ghost? You have to be an elf. Your ears.”

 

“Yes, I’m of the Teleri,” he elf answered, and looked at Ned with such kindness that his heart began to settle some. “My name is Vása, and I need you to be quiet now so I can help him. You didn’t do this.” Vása turned away from Ned again and started to say something in what Ned could only deduce was elvish. It sounded like some sort of song, or ancient chant, but to his relief, it seemed to be working. A white light emanated from Vása’s palms, and Ned could see it travel along the veins in Emerson’s head, neck, and down beneath the collar of his shirt. Internally, the guilt began to eat away at him. 

 

His gift really was a curse. But how could he have known? How could he possibly have known that a pile of ash on the floor was some sort of dead thing? It did get him thinking; in the distance, he could hear the sound of sirens, but he was too busy thinking about how ash had gotten there in the first place. There were no signs of smoke damage in the building, and there had been no reports of a fire. Though he had remembered that when he entered the building it smelled as though there had been. The kind of heat that would be needed to produce ash and zero bone fragments was unreal. It was like one of those spontaneous combustion mysteries… There could only be one real conclusion, and from the view of magic right in front of him, there could be no more denying it.

 

Magic was real, elves were really real, ghosts were real, Middle Earth wasn’t just some widespread delusion. Ned felt his stomach flip flop and the whole world went diagonal for a moment. He stumbled back and sat on a crate with a loud thump that echoed off of the walls. Things had just gotten too big for them to truly understand. Emerson was going to be pissed when he realized that they were going to have to bring Thranduil or Cam with them on the next time out… if there  _ was  _ a next outing in the field. 

 

The magic stopped, and Vása rose from where he was knelt, guiding Emerson to lay down on his back. 

 

“You should go to the hospital too. It’s a miracle that you got out of here with your life. Where did the creature go? I didn’t see it leave.”

 

“It didn’t. It’s dead. I killed it.”

 

“You… what?” Something unreadable passed through Vása’s face. Ned couldn’t tell whether Vása was impressed or annoyed, but his head was spinning too much to really get a handle on what happened. 

 

“I think I killed it. It was coming right at me, and then it wasn’t, and there was ash everywhere.”

 

“Valar-- are you serious?!” Vása skipped over to his side to look Ned over with awe. “That’s impressive! Are you one of those human mages? Or are you one of the Istari?”

 

“No, and no… I don’t think. I don’t know what an Istari is.”

 

“They’re wizards. An order of Maiar that are very, very powerful.”

 

“No. I’m not one of those either,” Ned gulped. He backed a little away from Vása, finding himself indescribably uncomfortable with the lack of space between them. He knew exactly what had happened, but he really wasn’t comfortable telling some stranger just what he’d done. Even if he could possibly help.

 

Soon enough the building was flooded with voices, and Vása was done questioning Ned. It was an unspoken mutual agreement that most of the people of Arda didn’t speak of it in front of the regular world. Vása even  let his hair down around his ears, playing at it nervously as the paramedics worked on Emerson to make sure he was stable enough for transport. 

 

“Do not speak of this… to anyone. The less people who know of the darkness around them, the better. Ignorance is bliss, after all. You should go to the hospital too. Unscathed or not, it would be best to be sure if you’re all right.”

 

“No… I don’t really  _ do  _ hospitals. I’m fine. I’m probably okay. It probably just didn’t want to eat me because I smell like wet flour and um-- what I hope is sweat.” Ned looked at his phone lamentingly. He was going to have to get a new one, that was for sure. But that wasn’t really his biggest concern. “He’s going to be okay right? You healed him?”

 

“I did what I can… that man has a lot of anger inside of him, and anger is a doorway for things of evil and darkness to make their homes in. Whether he’s okay in the end is up to him. Are you sure that you wouldn’t want to go to the hospital just to be by his side? It might help him if he were to have a good friend beside him.”

 

Ned  considered Vása’s words carefully, then decided that it really would be best if he went along. Emerson sure would be there if it had been him that this’d happened to. He’d been there in subtler ways when Chuck had died. He’d been at the funeral. He’d even thought that maybe Emerson had shed a tear. He really wasn’t as cold as he wanted people to think he was. Inside, he had a good heart, and he was Ned’s best friend. 

 

“Thanks. For everything. I can’t really repay you for your help, but I can give you a good slice of pie. Drop by The Pie Hole some time?”

 

“I would love to. Good luck--”

 

“Ned Baker.

 

“Good luck Ned,” Vása told him, and then walked off to exit out one of the side doors of the warehouse, pausing once to look over his shoulder at Ned with that same unreadable expression.

 

\-----

 

“It looks like you’ve had a very hard day,” Thranduil stood in the doorway to the Pie Hole kitchen, giving Cam a wide berth to do his job. Ned hadn’t said a word all afternoon, looking dreamy and far away. A look Thranduil used to see in Legolas during his lessons. Day dreaming, perhaps, or contemplating some very big thoughts that weren’t yet worthy of being put into words. It came as no surprise to Thranduil when Ned continued to roll his dough instead of answering in any measure of word or gesture. 

 

There was something he had noticed about Ned in the time they’d been living in close proximity. Whenever Ned got stressed or overwhelmed, he had put everything down to simply bake. Ned would bake an assortment of pies that made Thranduil’s mouth water-- but perhaps that was because he’d been missing the rich complexity of his long gone kitchens. Ned was ordinarily a wonderful cook, but his baking far outdid any meal  laid out on the table, and Thranduil was quickly learning to never turn down an invitation to dinner. 

 

With a contented sigh, Thranduil continued to watch Ned work on the pie he was making. He figured that if he watched Ned bake them enough, he might be able to make one without the assistance of the Pie Maker. It would be nice to be able to repay Ned with something he enjoyed after all of the trouble he’d gone through to help him get on his feet. Bilbo had done a great deal of work too, helping him make something called a resume. Something that would help him find a means to make money. 

 

“Behind,” Cam droned as he rounded Thranduil, pressing passed him gracefully. His fake hand held a tray while his other hand had a couple of glasses to set in the sinks. “You know, if you want to be useful, you could wash the dishes,” he told Thranduil without looking at him. “He’s not going to come out of his own head for a couple of hours. It’s like we’re not even here.”

 

Impassive, Thranduil looked away from the process of pie making and walked over to the sink. It was a job that was so out of his comfort zone that he almost scowled. The words of Thorin echoed in his head;  _ such a lavish life the elves must have lead.  _

 

Anger in his belly like hot iron, Thranduil snatched up the sponge from the counter and awkwardly bent his height over it to scrub the food free from the plates. He made sure that every dish sparkled by the time he was done with it. Perhaps Thorin had been right. Elves had spent too many ages lusting for jewels, and that terrible lust was what brought their world to its knees before a dark and terrible Valar and his Maiar. Maybe some humble work would give him a better perspective. 

 

It wasn’t as if he’d never done dishes before in his life, but it had been a very long time since his rank had been at a place where it was required of him. In a way, it was refreshing, so he made no complaint as Cam brought tray after tray for him to wash. It was made an even more pleasant job when Ned put the pie he was working on in the oven, and the kitchen filled with the sweet and sugary smell of fruit and crust. For once, his mind did not stray away and into his old home. It stayed in the Pie Hole, lingering in doorways and wondering just what it would be like as a guest here instead of someone who stayed out of necessity. 

 

“You do realize that he’s just bringing clean dishes back for you to wash, right?” Ned was watching him from a little ways away, neck craned to see just what Thranduil was doing. 

 

“What? And it is that you are the only one in the kitchen who is allowed to drift into your own mind for long hours at a time?” Thranduil teased back with a kindly smile. He turned the water off and dried his hands on a towel.

 

“Well, no, but I just thought you’d like to know so that you didn’t end up doing something like washing the napkin holders-- though they probably could stand to be washed,” Ned mumbled, and looked for a minute like he really was considering having Thranduil wash them. Thranduil could see the very clear thought process as Ned visibly remembered Thranduil was a King, not a dish boy. “Nevermind. We’re going to close early tonight I think, so um… I kind of need you out of the kitchen so I can do clean up.”

 

“Yes. of course,” Thranduil stepped out of the way and put himself back by the archway that lead out to the till. “I was thinking… would it be so strange if I left one of my resumes here with you? I can understand if that would be asking too much of you, but I haven’t a job. I understand you’re an employer.”

 

Ned stopped suddenly and whirled his head around so quickly Thranduil was sure his neck had to be sore from it. His mouth fell open, mouthing what were probably supposed to be words. 

 

“No!” Ned suddenly said, and Thranduil’s shoulders sagged tiredly. “I mean-- no you can but-- There are better places that you can work than the Pie Hole right? You’re a King! An-- you’re an elven king,” Ned whispered so that his voice didn’t carry out to the customers. Thranduil felt a scathing burn of mixed emotions. 

 

“Do you think I am not capable of completing the work?” He asked, confused.

 

“No, it’s not that. It’s-- It’s that you’re not supposed to be working in a bakery. Wouldn’t you be happier as like… a CEO or something? Running your own company, or-- or running for president?” Ned looked more flummoxed than usual, and Thranduil wasn’t sure whether he should be offended or not.

 

“Well, you’ve employed Maedhros,” Thranduil pointed out. “He was once a great king too.” 

 

Ned looked over at the Red Head currently trying to finish up his shift, bumping his head on the low hanging cherry lamps. Somehow, he found it a little hard to believe, but it would make a great deal of sense. That made him feel worse. All this time he’d been bossing around some great king, and if he hired Thranduil, he’d be bossing around two. Not to mention that the two of them didn’t seem to like each other very much, and it was over some sort of battle that happened forever ago. He wondered just how much of a good idea it would be to hire Thranduil too. Or even if he could afford to. 

 

“Yeah-- okay, yeah, you can give me your resume, and I’ll think about it, but I’m really not promising anything because I’m not sure if I can afford to hire you right now. Things aren’t going too great business wise you know? You see the number of customers we get in here, it just isn’t covering the bills, never mind covering the wage of another employee…” Ned sighed quietly and shrugged his shoulders up. 

 

That was a more reasonable explanation than the one that Ned had fed him before. Feeling less slighted, Thranduil allowed the tightness in his brow to let go. He had a feeling that finding a job was not going to be a very pleasant experience. 

 

“Thank you,” Thranduil said with a small voice. 

 

Ned paused and set his apron aside. Things just seemed to get more awkward between them the more that they were around each other. Ned had started to fear that he really just didn’t understand Thranduil in the slightest. He’d done all his best to help, but Bilbo had done a lot more of the work than he had himself. It didn’t help that every time Ned saw Thranduil he found himself caught up in staring at him, wondering about his past and whether or not to believe it. 

 

Things were different now. There was no more doubt about whether or not Thranduil was just what he said he was. The longer Ned looked at him, the more he wanted to know. 

 

Before his thoughts could get away from him, Ned slipped passed Thranduil to step out into the dining room. There was only one table left to finish up. An old man and his wife, and they would be gone on their way soon too. 

 

“I might know someone in one of the restaurants in town that might be willing to help you. If you want to work in a kitchen that is. I know a few people. I recommend you talk to them.” Ned moved to step away, only to have his heart jump into his throat when Thranduil stepped in the way so that he couldn’t move passed. Ned’s hands flew behind his back to clasp together; the last thing that he needed today was a body in the middle of the kitchen.

 

“Ned,” Thranduil’s voice came out like silk, easing his nerves. “You don’t have to fix every little issue that may fall near you. I am somewhat self sufficient, and I can find something, I’m sure. You have done so much for me already. It’s starting to feel a little like I haven’t taken a step on my own since I’ve come here. This I can do. This I will accomplish, and I will pay you back for what kindness you’ve given me. That is a promise. 

 

“But know; I  _ was  _ a King, but am no longer. Please… stop treating me as though I sit marble statued upon a pedestal. I am not so mighty that I am beyond the walls of your establishment. My crown was not taken from me, Ned. I gave it freely to be among my people. I would give it freely still now. The time of my Kingdom is no more, and though my heart is saddened, I must learn to be someone new. I am not the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm any longer. I am simply… Thranduil Oropherion.”

 

Ned looked exasperated for a second, broken into a nervous sweat as he took a step away from Thranduil.

 

“That’s all well and good-- but you really might need the help with this. I’m not really doing it out of pity or anything. It’s something that everyone has trouble with, not just former Elvenkings,” Ned sputtered.

 

“Ned, I will do this on my own.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to be a lawyer? Because I’m pretty sure that you would be really good at it,” Ned grumbled, ducking into his kitchen so that he could put more space between himself and Thranduil. 

 

Thranduil gave a faint look of glee, perceiving Ned’s words as a compliment though he wasn’t sure if he understood them. The look of delight lightened the mood on Ned’s shoulders and made him smile back to Thranduil. 

 

That was, until the door of the pie hole burst open, and all 4’9 of Olive Snook came raging through the door, right up to the counter to look at Ned. 

 

“Okay buster, I’ve been real patient with you since I figured you were going through a hard time. I thought you would call me when you were feeling better, but ohhh no. You and Emerson Cod go and do something and he ends up in the hospital! What do I look like to you?!”

 

“An angry--”

 

“Very angry! I am very angry! You’ve done it this time mister. You went and promised me that you would call the very minute you thought it was conceivable that you and Emerson would be out solving mysteries again! I thought maybe--

 

“Olive, please, there are customers,” Ned balked.

 

“I don’t care! You’ve been ignoring everyone for months now and you can’t just keep shoving us away because you’re miserable. I could put up with it when I thought you just needed space, but this is going too  far.  You didn’t even call me to tell me about Emerson! I had to learn about that from someone else and you know I would have liked to have heard it from you first!”

 

“You’re right, I’m sorry, but I didn’t not call you because I didn’t want you around, I just didn’t call you because I’ve been up to my neck busy! Honestly!” Ned looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor, and Thranduil thought he may have to step outside. But he didn’t escape the little blonde woman’s gaze, nor the look of complete and utter shock that dawned on her. Olive looked between Thranduil and Ned for a few quiet seconds. 

 

Thranduil was finally the one to break the silence as he cleared his throat and smiled welcomingly at Olive, assuming she was, or used to be a fairly good friend of the Pie Maker’s. 

 

“You two--”

 

“Yeah, I have a new room mate. He was new in town, and he was busy moving in and I was showing him around and I really didn’t have a lot of time between solving crime, baking pie, and adjusting to things to call, Olive. I’m sorry. Really I am, can you stop yelling at me now please?” 

 

The older couple exited the Pie Hole just a moment later, leaving the four remaining occupants in an awkward silence. 

 

“What happened to you two?” Olive asked in a much smaller voice. She climbed up on one of the stools at the pie bar. 

 

“We were at a crime scene and I don’t know… he kind of had a fit. They think he might have had a heart attack or a stroke or something.” Ned leaned on the counter, bearing most of his weight on his elbows. “They found a bunch of bodies out in the storage warehouse from Pharmacy Six.”

 

Thranduil began to feel as though he was intruding on the conversation, but it didn’t stop him from listening in. He had been on the other end of one of Ned’s investigations, and he could not quite place his finger just on why this felt natural to listen in on. Perhaps because he could tell that Ned was lying to Olive, and he could begin to deduce what was closer to the truth. 

 

“He kind of threw up and fell over and-- and some guy must have been curious too because he found us and called an ambulance. I’m pretty sure he would have died or something if that guy hadn’t shown up. I think his name was like… Rava.. No-- Vása.”

 

“I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought that killer came back and you guys were gone. I don’t know what I would have done,” Olive breathed. Her honest eyes were transfixed on Ned, gazing on him in a way that made Thranduil rather uncomfortable. Were these two ex lovers? It was a subtle light in the way she looked at Ned, and in the way that Ned looked at her. Something had been between them, even if time had passed and buried that something in the dust. 

 

“Is he going to be okay?” Cam asked, causing three heads to turn in his direction. Cam had recognized the name the same way that Thranduil had, knowing ‘Vása’ was of Elvish origin. That had lead them both into thinking the same thing. Ned was holding back for Olive’s sake. Perhaps it was for the best. 

 

“I don’t know really. I mean, I hope so. He was doing a lot better when I left the hospital. He was breathing on his own. But he hasn’t woken up yet I don’t think. But it’s Emerson, I don’t think he’d really let anything keep him down for too long… right?” Ned looked at Olive for confirmation, worrying the edge of his bottom lip with his teeth. 

 

“And… This Vása… What did he look like?” Cam questioned. 

 

“He was blond I guess. Tall.” Ned shrugged a little bit, trying not to think too much about what had happened to him in the warehouse. Just thinking about the whole ordeal made him feel dizzy all over again, and he was glad that he was leaning over the counter. 

 

Thranduil looked over to Ned with a pained and hopeful look, like a small part of him had heard tall and blond and hoped for-- or rather hoped it wasn’t someone that Ned _ knew _ it wasn’t. The guy’s eyes were brown not blue. Ned could only look back toward Olive.

 

“Look. I have to close the Pie Hole. You should come back tomorrow and we can… sit. Talk.” Ned swept away from the counter and brushed around Thranduil carefully. He stood in front of Olive and gave his best ‘I’m okay’ smile. He wasn’t of course. The Pie Maker’s mind had been running overtime since he’d gotten back, and it wasn’t going to settle down for a long time yet. He had an awful feeling that things were just at their grim beginning.

 

Olive threw her arms around Ned’s middle, which didn’t surprise him as much as it probably might have a year ago. Instead, he hugged her back with one arm, short and sweet, and then let her go. Thranduil hadn’t seen anyone give Ned any sort of physical attention since his arrival. He seemed to purposefully avoid any touching. Even so much as a pat on the arm seemed to be met with such a withdrawn reaction that Thranduil thought he would never see anyone elicit a physically affectionate response from Ned.

 

What he didn’t understand, however, was just quite why he felt a pit of envy growing in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need some female character suggestions. Give them to me -makes grabby hands- This fic is really sausage heavy, as it's a Tolkien cross over. I was thinking like-- Eowyn, or Luthien, or someone like that??? Do suggest more female characters for me.


	6. Conflicted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ilmarin - http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Ilmarin  
> Taniquetil - http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Taniquetil
> 
>  
> 
> BEHOLD. This chapter was fun to write. I hoped to add a little bit of humor there, but this chapter is kind of angsty. Sorry, not sorry.

The sky shone alight with many stars and the land was quiet. In the distance the sound of the terrible sea storm had quieted into a very hushed wind. A feeling of unsettlement had fallen over the peoples of Aman. Up in Ilmarin on the top of Taniquetil, Manwë stirred with unrest. His heart had quaked at the news that had come from Middle Earth. A dark shadow had risen over the land that had not been seen since the first age. To and fro went things unseen that brought ruin in the night. 

 

A terrible cry had come from the deep, and Khazad-dûm had trembled with it. Though there were rumors of some atrocious assault to come, the whole world held its breath. The cry had come, but no beast followed. An unnatural emptiness had settled in the world. Varda had spent most of the evening with her gaze on the stars that she had painted in the sky. A young elf by the name of Legolas had felt the disturbance  before it had come upon them, and it was at their own losses that they had failed to interpret the vision of his nightmare. There had been wonderings of others that had felt the unrest, others were beginning to claim that they too were seeing things unnatural. 

 

“Has there been word from Mandos?”

 

“Not yet,” Varda told him calmly, her hand resting on his. 

 

“And the young Sindar?”

 

“He is in the city of Tirion with the Lady Galadriel, under her care. His heart has been torn.” 

 

“He grieves his father,” Manwë spoke the thought aloud. That had made a good deal of sense. The vision had been gifted to Legolas as it was his blood, kin, and King that had been dragged to the bottom of the sea and into nothingness. The eagles had searched two full weeks now, and no word had there been of any survivor, though scraps of the boat had been brought back along with a piece of shimmering silver and green sail that was gifted to the grieved son of King Thranduil. Nienna had come from her place in the hall of Mandos to his side to seek from him the true meaning of his vision, and to weep with him of the loss of his father. He had been able to tell her no more of his dream than they had already guessed.

 

“He is somber with it and will not yet eat. There has been no comfort to him in the company of his people or his friends. The lady Galadriel has said that there is a wandering in his heart.”

 

Stillness came between Manwë and Varda, and no word was spoken. The birds did not dare even sing at the windows. Manwë stroked his chin thoughtfully and turned his back on the window to descend from his watchtower. 

 

“My dear one, will you bring him to me? If he should move from his place of shadow, before his grief has him wither. I would see him. There is much to discuss of what happened, and I can not allow for more time for his heart to heal. If there is premonition of what could rise from the earth below, then this forewarning we must heed.”

 

Varda followed in her husband’s footsteps, though she doubted that he would learn more from Legolas than they already had, her long cloak sweeping behind her as she passed over stone in silence. She took hold of his hand and turned Manwë toward her, a look of sadness in her knowing gaze. 

 

“Perhaps it would be to benefit if you went to him. Give him the comfort of a King, as his heart misses the one he knew so dearly. Leave these halls and descend into the city. Give the people a word from their King; their hushed day can not be followed by a silent night. Grim news may be better than leaving a frightful suspense. People act rashly when they are afraid.” 

Manwë took pause and considered Vardas words and wisdom. Their world had been far too often sieged by darkness, and it was time that the people be ready to defend against it. What had caused the sinking of a ship on the edge of the blessed realm could mean nothing of benefit to them.

 

“I will go to Tirion, and in my absence I would bid you watch the horizon, my dear one, farewell,” he bent himself to press his forehead to hers for a brief moment of silence and peace, and then Manwë left his hall to descend to the people below the shadow of the mountain. 

 

Some hours passed, Legolas sat beneath the boughs of an extravagant tree, gazing up through the gaps in the branches. He remembered well the prophecy that had sent him to the sea in the first place and wondered at it. He would never again find peace under beech or elm. It had been no secret between himself and Gimli that Legolas’ stirring had never ceased. He had expected the sea longing to wan after his arrival to Aman, but it had stayed like a sickness and cough that would not die out. The crying of the gulls at the docks had called him back to the water, and ever he had travelled between Aqualondë and Eresseä to be closer to the sea. 

 

Legolas had blamed his love of the boats on his pride in coming to Aman in a ship he had built with his own two hands and crossed with. He had told those who had caught him staring out into the horizons passed the grey that he simply was wondering what other lands there had been that he had not yet seen. Gimli, his truest friend, saw his heart for what was in it. No words had passed between them, and though Gimli had been intent on seeing the Lady Galadriel again, he seldom left Legolas’ side. Even though the hair in his beard had peppered and greyed some, Gimli stayed spry and witty. It had brought some joy to the troubling feeling that stirred in Legolas. 

 

So it was no surprise to Gimli when Legolas had been the one chosen to see a nightmarish vision, nor did it surprise him any when Legolas had felt the bond with his father sever and fade away. The hope that remained in Legolas came from the very fact that his heart did not wither, he had no desire to fade and join his family in the halls of Mandos. When Thranduil had died, a great fire was born in his son. 

 

“Copper for your thoughts then?” Gimli sounded, he sat on the other side of the tree so that Legolas could think to himself in peace, but sometimes dwarves could not stand the quiet for too terrible long. 

 

“I fear I must leave this land,” Legolas confessed. “My heart has lead me astray.”

 

“Your heart or your mind?” Gimli questioned him as he stuffed more pipeweed into his pipe and lit it to smoke.  “It seems to me that your heart told you where to go all along but you perceived its intention with bias. There’s a bigger picture lad; where do you think it’ll lead you if you follow it now?”

 

“I don’t know.” 

 

“On some adventure I’d hope. Beautiful land it is here, but I would like to see something other than leaves on trees and water and boats,” Gimli laughed over his smoke. He sobered again when he received no answer of his friend. Perhaps peace and silence was the better path after all. 

 

Legolas stood and climbed into the branches of the tree to stare up at the stars. The way he moved with the sway of the branches in the breeze brought him a spark in his mind to remember his home. The Woodland Realm would never be under his gaze again, but Legolas could remember when he was barely waist high to his father, and Thranduil had taught him to walk effortlessly in the trees. Thranduil had learned the art just to teach it to his son. When the day had been spent, and the two of them were done with the lesson, Legolas would sit in the branches and listen to his father talk about  _ his _ father. Thranduil would speak of how lessons had turned not into schooling but lessons of greater importance: of love for his people, Oropher had taken time from his every busying and dreary schedule to give to Thranduil a light of hope. When Oropher had died, Thranduil took his crown with great loyalty to his people and tremendous love for his home. 

 

Legolas closed his eyes and allowed his grief to drag him into another dream. He wished to dream of the earlier days of the wood, he wished to dream of days before war, and hardship, and before the days of Sauron and the ring. This was all in the life of an elf too common. Some would wish back to the days of their youth hundreds of years prior when the world had been just a little bit less dark, and a little more seen through rose tinted hue. Legolas only wished to dream of the days where his father had been alive, he wished to dream of the memory of his mother who had passed from them before her time. 

 

Instead, Legolas dreamed strange dreams as he opened his eyes to look at the stars. He dreamed about an establishment shaped like a pie, cherry lanterns on the inside, and his father staring down at a paper with strange script printed upon it in neat and tidy ink. The surroundings faded from colorful and cheery to grey and dreary, and Legolas felt a terrible sadness in his heart. 

 

\-----

 

Thranduil sat in the waiting room in a prestigious office building, staring at his resume. The multi billionaire, international jewelry company had been hiring for a new assistant for one of their CEOs. Thranduil had not expected this kind of position, except that Maedhros had called one of his brothers to have a talk with him this morning. He had assumed that this brother was Maglor, as none of the others ever came to the Pie Hole. They had both told him that he would be interviewing with somebody else from Eä, and that they would not judge him too harshly on his skills. Bilbo had lit up with a chirp and had said:

 

_ ‘You can be trained for any job. It’s a matter of getting a job that is quite difficult. That’s why I work for myself you see, owning my own flower shop.’ _

 

Thranduil had thought long about owning his own business as well, as Ned had assured him that it was difficult but rewarding as he was fighting with unclogging the sink from a water bug infestation. Until he could make a business of his own, though, he thought it would be much better if he had a job to invest money in this business that he had planned to build. Thorin had even been kind enough to fix up parts of his fake resume. 

 

“Thranduil Oropherion,” A voice called to him from the doorway. A stout young woman stood there with a clip board and a bright smile on her round face. “Come with me please.” 

 

“Thank you,” he responded and stood, offering his hand out for a shake like he’d been taught. Interviews, he remembered from the crash course he’d been given, were the hardest part about obtaining a job. 

 

“Oh not a problem! Can I get you a coffee?” She-- Brenda, her name tag informed him -- offered, just as chipper as she’d been on first greeting. Thranduil had seen Ned consume cup after cup of coffee, and from the smell of it, Thranduil had decided that the robust over presence of the scent was enough to put him off of the drink. 

 

“No, thank you,” he responded, trying to sound friendly. Thranduil was lead into a dreary grey room with thin carpet and a sleek metal and black-wood desk inside. The woman closed the door behind them and gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs. Thranduil adjusted the uncomfortable tie around his neck-- a gaudy yellow that he’d borrowed from Ned-- and sat down with his hands neatly folded over the resume on his lap. The air around them felt utterly recycled and stuffy, almost making it hard to breathe. The harsh lighting felt awful and unnatural. It was a distant and chilling reminder that he was somewhere that he did not belong. 

 

“Vása will be with you in just a moment,” Brenda chirped, opening the blinds to let some sunlight into the room. She turned a pot with a lonely flower inside of it, and then exited as swiftly as she’d come to him in the waiting room. Idly, Thranduil wondered just how a jeweler had made a company this vast, and this rich. Perhaps jewelry and the craft of making it was a much more important business on Earth than he’d expected. But then, knowing that the company itself was owned by Fëanor, it did not surprise him. It did, however, make him feel very ill to even consider working for a kinslayer.

 

A very big part of him simply wished that he could walk out of the office and never come back. His people would surely be disgusted if they knew. It had been Maedhros’ brothers who had murdered so many in Doriath, who had caused so much chaos. It was Bilbo in the end who convinced him to even try. 

 

_ ‘Every one has a different life here. It isn’t like it was back there, not at all. Some people are the same as they were. This world changes people though. There’s a lot to learn from the people here, and see, you can’t really hold people to what they did before they died. Lots of people go and act like this is one big punishment, or like it’s their second chance. You don’t really know who anyone is here until you spend some  real time with them. Some of them have paid enough for what they’ve done. With their lives even, if I’m right.’  _ And Thranduil had known that Bilbo was right. It still made him terribly uncomfortable to even consider being in correlation to the people who had done so much wrong in Middle Earth. What was he to do? He was at a loss for money and means to live, and his pride had kept him from telling Ned that the last three days he’d eaten not but bread and peanutbutter.  

Surely, if it had been Sauron that had offered him a job, not a single one of them would misunderstand him if he had said no. 

 

But Thranduil did not like to be indebted to people, and he owed it to Maedhros and Maglor to at least try at this opportunity. 

 

The other reason he’d held back from leaving was his simple curiosity. Vása was the name of the elf who had saved Emerson Cod’s life after Ned’s run in with a dark spirit of some conjuring. Feeling terribly uncomfortable and conflicted, Thranduil had to straighten himself in his chair after he’d realized that he’d begun to sink down much like Ned would when he was uncomfortable. 

 

The  door opened behind him and Thranduil turned to look at the tall and stunning blond elf as he stepped into the room with a hurried air in his pace. He set an armful of files down on the edge of his desk and then turned to look at Thranduil with a gaze so piercing that he near froze in his seat. A feeling of nervousness and a fear most unfamiliar fell over him. Never would Thranduil grow used to being afraid of this world. 

 

“Your resume?” Vása asked, holding his hand out for it. Thranduil set it in his hand and stood so that they could be face to face for a proper introduction and a handshake, but Vása seemed utterly disinterested in that. He paid no heed to Thranduil as he leafed through the two pages of the resume and furrowed his brow in deep confusion.

 

“It says here that you were an… escort?” Vása looked Thranduil over as if he couldn’t believe it, and Thranduil smiled brightly. Thorin had told him that escorts in this world were like bodyguards to men of high importance. 

 

“Yes, I learned quite a lot from that. Personal relations, networking, and self defense were a must have in a job like that.”

 

“I… can imagine,” Vása commented, and then set the paper on his desk, sizing Thranduil up with the same look he’d come in with. “But as much as I would like to believe that you were a  _ prostitute,  _ I don’t think I really want to hear about it.”

 

Thranduil blanched, filled with so much fury that it made his hands ball into fists. He was going to kill Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo was going to be very cross with him for getting dwarf blood all over the doilies and carpet. He wasn’t just going to kill Thorin Oakenshield, he was going to eviscerate him and hang his entrails in the sun for the blasted ravens to peck at. 

 

“I--”

 

“I will be honest with you, Thranduil, I don’t think you’re right for the job, so please don’t waste my time,” Vása told him, then tossed the resume into the trash. 

 

“... Thank you for your time,” Thranduil enunciated through gritted teeth and tensed jaw. He turned on his heel and left the office before closing the door behind him carefully so he wouldn’t cause a scene on his way out. Utterly humiliated, he stalked down to the car where Ned was waiting. He felt his eyes grow glassy for a minute, but after an angry huff, he had regained his composure and was ready to face anyone who might look at him, calmly collected and pleasant. 

 

Thranduil opened the car door and sat himself in the passenger seat, slamming the door shut hard enough to make Ned jump out of his daze and slam his head on the roof of the car. 

 

“Didn’t go well huh?” Ned rubbed the top of his head with a pained look on his face, then bent down to find where he’d dropped his keys.

 

“No,” Thranduil replied bitterly, but did not say more than that. His stomach rolled with the disgrace settling on him like an oily coat of paint that wouldn’t wash away from his skin. Thranduil wanted to peel himself away from this existence, rip away the horribly restricting clothes, and go horseback riding through his own realm to rid himself of what had just happened. He would never speak of it again-- though…

 

He wondered at just why Thorin would do such a thing to him. Certainly he wasn’t grateful, but he was a little bit relieved. The decision of whether or not he wanted to work for the Fëanorians or not was now out of his hands. It did sting a little, however, knowing that they now thought so little of him because of that point on his resume that he had barely gotten into the interview before his resume had been tossed in the trash bin. 

 

“Right, okay. So-- um… back to the Pie Hole then?” Ned was glad there was a two inch thick barrier of plastic between them, as Thranduil looked like he was really getting ready to murder someone. Ned hunched his shoulders up and waited through the pregnant silence until Thranduil finally released the breath he’d been angrily holding.

 

“No, I think I need to have a chat with Thorin Oakenshield,” Thranduil gritted angrily, unable to contain his calm. Ned winced, a slight understanding of what could have possibly happened dawned on him. Maybe that feud between elves and dwarves still carried over into the here and now-- Thorin and Thranduil had seemed civil enough with each other, but it was clear that whatever had happened between them wasn’t exactly over. Just because they were civil didn’t mean they were friends.

 

Ned started the car and started the short drive to New BagEnd; Thranduil looked utterly exhausted, his head leaned back and his tie pulled loose. Ned couldn’t help but steal one or two glances at red lights and stop signs, and Thranduil didn’t care to mention that he could practically feel Ned’s gaze on him. 

 

“I started selling a new pie today. There were these pineapples on sale, so I thought-- why not? I made this fruit cocktail pie with sugar crust, and it seems to be doing really well so far. People like it. Like they really like it. Maybe you can have a slice when we get back? It might cheer you up a little.”

 

“Not quite everything can be solved with Pie, Ned,” Thranduil sighed at him, opening his eyes to glance at him in weak frustration. It was hard to stay angry around Ned. He had a natural charm about him and a pluckiness that was incredibly difficult not to smile at. 

 

“No. Not everything, but Pie can’t really hurt after a bad day. That’s what I think. It took me a long time to get my first job, and I would come home after these really crappy interviews and bake a pie. I mean, I had some really bad interviews. Really, really bad interviews. There was this one right after I got out of highschool where the guy asked me what my biggest weakness was, and my voice squeaked, and it kind of scared me so I kind of stopped talking and… threw up on the ground.” 

 

Thranduil knitted his brow together, concentrating very hard on wanting to be angry.

 

“And don’t even get me started on the people that I’ve interviewed. Now that I own my own business, every summer I get the kids that have summer break from school, and they all want a temporary job, and sometimes I do take them on for a few weeks. But there was a kid I interviewed who spent half of the interview picking his nose and wiping it under the table.”

 

Thranduil felt his lips unwillingly quirk into a small smile. He realized how badly he really hadn’t wanted the job the more that Ned talked. The interview may have gone badly, but he realized that if he’d gotten the job, he would have had to go back into that horrible building day in and day out to do a job that he probably would have no idea how to do, and talk to people like Brenda. Brenda was a nice woman, but the facade of happiness that she cloaked herself in would be easily tiring. 

 

“And what do you suppose I do now then, Pie Maker?” Thranduil asked, a curious twinkle in his eye. This man, a mere 29 years old, acted as though he had the wisdom of someone in their later centuries. 

 

“That’s kind of up to you right? You keep applying for jobs, or-” Ned pulled up to Bilbo’s house and stopped the car, pulling his key from the ignition. “-I guess you can give up and sit around and do nothing, but that doesn’t seem like something you’d do honestly. Not that I know you that well, I don’t, but you really don’t seem like someone who would give up after one bad experience with something. You seem more like the kind of person who takes that bad experience and keeps trying and trying until you’re really sick of it and you’ve mastered  it, or until you really find something that you enjoy, and it suddenly doesn’t seem like a chore anymore. Because that’s kind of what you’ve been doing the whole time you’ve been here.”

 

Ned got out of the car before Thranduil had a chance to reply, heading for the door. Thranduil sat for just a moment, a little bit shocked that Ned had read him so easily. Slightly annoyed, and a little unnerved at the astute observations, Thranduil rose out of the car and joined Ned at the door. His anger still sat at a low bubble below the surface. 

 

Perhaps that’s why, then, that all of his anger from the past few weeks came out in one short burst when Thorin answered the door and made some snarky remark about interviews that he didn’t allow Thorin to finish. Thranduil had wound up and punched him in the face. Ned jumped back in shock with a cry of disbelief, looking at Thranduil slackjawed as he stepped over the floored dwarf and pushed himself and his bruised hand toward the kitchen to greet Bilbo. 

 

Ned was left with Thorin who was gushing blood out of his nose into his salt and pepper beard, grumbling and swearing in Khuzdul whenever Ned tried to help him.

 

“Oh knock it out your rear! Get off me,” Thorin snorted through his hand like a maddened bull. 

 

“Gracious! What’s going on here now!”

 

“That Elf--”

 

“That Dwarf--”

 

Thorin and Thranduil’s voices rose together in a cacophony of argument that Ned had to cover his ears to get away from. Bilbo threw his hands into the air incredulously.

 

“He put that I was a whore on my resume!”

 

“Aye! You didn’ needda break my nose for it! I did you a faffor n’ ya know it!” Thorin bubbled through the blood in his hand, his surly dark eyes furiously glaring up at Thranduil. 

 

“I didn’t ask for any favors from _ you _ . Whether or not I wanted that job was my decision and I can not tell whether this was some petty payback and you are  _ lying to me,  _ or whether you genuinely thought that this was helpful. It must be true that dwarves have boulders instead of brains!” Thranduil shouted furiously, his voice booming through the halls of New BagEnd. 

 

“You told me to make sure your work history was believable,” Thorin spat back. 

 

“If I recall it was you who sold their dignity for but one pretty stone,” Thranduil snarled. 

 

“Enough! Now that’s really enough! I will not have this kind of behavior in my house! My home’s taken quite enough abuse from-- from dwarves, and wizards, and now elves! I don’t care who did what to whom! You’re both stubborn, and hard headed, and this is ridiculous! Now knock that right off the two of you and Thorin you take a step outside so you aren’t bleeding all over the place and I’ll bring you a rag.” Bilbo bustled away from them with a few heavy words and a ‘confound it!’ under his breath.

 

Ned very carefully squished passed Thranduil and wandered into the kitchen to retrieve some ice. Thranduil had stolen away to one of the bathrooms and clicked the door shut behind him. Bilbo and Ned were both left alone in the kitchen. 

 

“I really don’t know what’s gotten into him. I didn’t think he’d do something like this. I knew they didn’t really like each other, but I thought they were getting along.” Ned cracked the ice tray and dumped some ice cubes into a plastic baggie before wrapping it in a towel. 

 

“Oh it isn’t your fault at all. Thorin and King Thranduil have had bad blood between them since before Thorin was even born I reckon. Dwarves and Elves have never been a friendly lot between one another,” Bilbo tore one of his grease stained dish rags with the scissors and folded it a few times to bring to Thorin. “And  those two especially haven’t been on the best terms.”

 

“I can’t really imagine being friends with the person who put me in jail,” Ned admitted, and Bilbo laughed a little. 

 

“No, but they’re doing quite better than I’d expected them to,” Bilbo said before he scampered off to go and tend to his bloodied dwarf. Ned took the opposite hall that lead him to the bathroom, and hesitated before he even thought about knocking on the door. He could hear shuffling from the inside, like someone was pacing and trying to really catch their breath. 

 

Ned swallowed the lump in his throat and rapped on the door. The shuffling stopped and Thranduil cracked the door open to look at Ned.

 

“I brought some ice for your hand…” He quirked a crooked smile at Thranduil and held up the towel. Thranduil shifted uneasily from his one foot and onto the next. He held his hand out for Ned to drop the ice in, then nodded deeply to show his thanks. 

 

“I will be out in just a moment.” Thranduil’s voice cracked only minutely, but Ned wished that he hadn’t heard it at all. Thranduil wasn’t the kind of person to be driven to needlessly be violent, and the sudden outburst had scared Thranduil a good deal. Bilbo’s words were echoing in his head. People changed in this world. Was this who he was going to change to be? Someone so quick to anger that he was driven to violence? And what would that do for his friendships?

 

“You look like you’re having a panic attack,” Ned pointed out quietly, and Thranduil could hardly deny the statement. He certainly did feel slightly panicked by his terrible behavior and how this world left his emotions exposed like a raw nerve. He’d been so exposed that Ned could read him like an open book. Perhaps this was who he had been all along, and the weight of his crown had withheld his hand from striking unnecessarily, Now he had no example to lead by, and the consequences of his actions directly affected him. 

 

“He called you a whore?”

 

“It doesn’t matter, the deed is done,” Thranduil said wearily, resting the ice on the edge of his knuckle. It did not hurt so much, but the ice would assure that the swelling would be kept to a minimum. The wound would be gone before nightfall. 

 

“You punched him because he called you a whore.”

 

“Among other reasons,” Thranduil scoffed. 

 

“So… you know you can’t really go hitting everyone that insults you in this world right?”

 

“I do not need the lesson Ned,” Thranduil snapped, and then regretted it, apologizing under his breath. 

 

The silence between them made Thranduil feel so much worse. Ned reminded him right then and there that the Thranduil who had punched Thorin Oakenshield was not the person that he wanted to be in this world. Quite often, Thranduil had had a reason to be calm in other situations… Ned could be his reason in this world. He needed Bilbo’s help to find some sort of work to pay Ned back, the man who had given him life and a chance to live it. Thranduil could be calm for Ned. He certainly wasn’t going to get Bilbo’s help if he went punching Thorin Oakenshield everytime he found himself angry… though the idea did have a satisfying appeal.

 

“I’m going to check on Thorin,” Ned muttered uncomfortably. 

 

“Wait,” Thranduil set the ice aside and went to grab Ned by the arm. He thought better of it and stopped, allowing his arms to go back to his side. “Something was strange today and I should tell you before I do forget in all of the other things that are going through my mind. Vása is working for the Fëanorians; he is a CEO for them… Ned, you need to be very careful. I would not say such things in front of Maedhros-- Cam-- but,  these people that he tried to get me a job for… they  may be his family, but they were kinslayers in my time. They were behind something terrible that happened in my home, and they have done terrible deeds. I feel quite awful having gone to that interview at all, but I suppose it was a good thing, I was able to see with my own eyes-- if Vása is that high in their rankings, I would not trust him.”

 

Ned started at Thranduil in a short confusion. He tried to connect this new person to everything that he’d learned about their world so far and found himself drawing yet another blank. Vása had saved Emerson. People weren’t always who they said, that was for sure, but Vása had seemed… honest. At least it made sense why Thranduil was so damn upset. Kinslaying didn’t seem like it was a crime that was taken lightly, but it didn’t make him any less confused.

 

“Okay, back up, I’m really confused. You guys keep talking to me like I understand all of this and I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t know anything about your history, or where you came from. I can appreciate that you don’t trust these guys and you might have a really good reason, and you’ve been right up to this point, but we don’t even really know him. If he hadn’t shown up when he did Emerson would be dead. And you weren’t there when it happened. He might have been having a bad day or something or--”

 

“Ned, these people came into my city and slaughtered people over a jewel. At the shores of Aqualondë, they killed people by masses for boats to go on a faithless oath that lead to only misery and bloodshed. Their father burned the greatest boats in Eä for petty revenge and defiance. They are dangerous, and the people who associate with them are dangerous. Maedhros may have been on the better side of these morals, but he was in Doriath too…

 

“I would not trust any of them, nor would I place my trust in the hand of Maedhros the Tall.”

 

“Cam? Okay--” Ned waved his hands in the air, his whole body tensed and uncomfortable. “Okay, he wasn’t a good person. I knew that already because he told me, and we kind of talk. But Maedhros-- Cam… Cam’s my friend. He was there for me, kind of, when things were really difficult. And… you went to the interview. You were ready to associate with them. Does that make you dangerous?”

 

Thranduil felt his hopes beginning to fail. Ned wasn’t going to believe him. And why would he? Ned hadn’t had to live through the same things that he had, and he’d known Maedhros much longer than he’d known Thranduil. Pushing the issue much further could end up in him losing the trust that he’d worked hard to be worthy of.

 

“Just do promise me that you’ll be careful of Vása. Until you know him better.”

 

“Only if you promise not to act like a jerk until  _ you  _ know him better. You know? Like not punching him in the face or anything.” Ned looked like his own temper was starting to rise. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this day to go. Thranduil closed his eyes for a brief moment to remind himself just why he’d chosen Ned as someone to believe in and be calm for. 

 

“Fine. But I do not promise to trust him,” he replied. 

 

Ned turned away from Thranduil slowly, a look of almost disappointment in his eyes that made Thranduil’s chest ache painfully. Why was it so difficult being a source of displeasure for Ned? Since when had he become so dependant on this Pie Maker’s approval? Since when had he started to really care about being the sort of person that this man could be proud of? It was a strange sinking feeling in his gut that made him watch Ned’s shoulders as he disappeared down the hall. 

 

Unbeknownst to him, Ned had a handful of similar questions firing in his own brain. When had Thranduil become someone that Ned wasn’t as intimidated by? When had they started to be able to speak to each other more equally? When was it that Ned had become so attached to Thranduil that it actually disappointed him to learn of some of his prejudices toward others? Were they prejudices? Had these people really done something so terrible that it warranted a warning like this? 

 

Ned felt terribly out of place in Bilbo’s home. Especially as he stood in the doorway of the house and heard Bilbo whispering sweet nothings to his grumbling dwarf. He felt especially uncomfortable at the envy he felt when he’d caught a glimpse of Bilbo holding Thorin’s hand.

 

\-----

 

The next couple of days were more hectic than Ned  had hoped for. He’d wanted to sit down with Cam and Thranduil and get the story from both sides about that Kinslaying business. He’d wanted to learn more about Middle Earth and the customs and expectations there. Instead, Ned had found himself answering to the Police about the happenings with Emerson Cod, and whether or not they were aware that the ashes and dust found at the scene were remains of a human body.

 

Ned had played dumb through the entire interview, and had been more than relieved when the cops had finally left. He’d been on the verge of a panic attack behind the counter of the Pie Hole when Olive had come in, once again fuming at him. He’d completely forgotten to call her, and now they were on the obligatory lunch date [date as in meeting, not date was in romantic, Ned had made that very clear], talking about things that had happened over the past year. 

 

“So you and Chuck you never--”

 

“No. Not really. I don’t really want to talk about that Olive.”

 

“Well I was going to be spitting mad if I hadn’t been invited to the wedding!” Olive defended, picking up her latte to drink from the cup. “You two all but disappeared off the map for a while there! Not even a hello, or a how do you do, you know? We were worried.”

 

“I know. I already apologized for that at the funeral--  I mean, I meant to. It could have possibly, more than likely slipped my mind.”

 

“So what have you been doing since then?” Olive leaned on the table looking concerned. 

 

“The same thing I was doing before Chuck died, but without Chuck. Working at the Pie Hole and trying a little harder to keep my head above water. I didn’t really think through what I would do if she had actually died. It was scary enough the first time-- I mean when she faked her death. That’s not something you really want to hear about on the news and then… well you know what happened kind of.” Ned leaned his cheek on his fist and stirred his coffee with the fork he’d been using to eat his salad, seeing as he hadn’t had any more plans on drinking it. “What about you? What are you doing? It’s got to be interesting. Being married.”

 

“Ohho, you’re not getting off that easy. Who’s tall, ginger, and handsome who snatched up my position as the stunning new waiter?”

 

“Ma-- um. Cam. His name is Cam, and things are complicated.”

 

“Complicated how? Ned! You can’t go and just date every waiter or waitress that you hire!” Olive hissed over her coffee cup. Ned dropped his jaw and sat up straight, indignant.

 

“I didn’t date him! I’m not-- Like that!”

 

“Like what? Gay? Bisexual? Pansexual?”

 

“I mean, I don’t think I am. Not that I’m against it or that I think it’s unnatural or anything but I’m not interested in men.”  _ Or elven men,  _ Ned added to himself silently. “Not that I’ve really tried, but I’ve had my chances to, I’m not gay.”

 

“That’s great!” Olive chirped, but then realized what she’d said. “I mean not great that you’re not gay and implying that gay is a bad thing to be, just that Emerson bet me 20 dollars that you were going to end up going for men after an experience like Chuck, and I said that you were more likely to just not date at all.”

 

“That’s… comforting that you two are in a place where you can bet on my sexuality and have a total disregard to whether or not it’s crushing my heart talking about it like it was something that happened on an episode of a TV show or something.” Ned replied bitterly. 

 

Olive softened and hopped up out of her side of the booth to slide in next to Ned, putting her hand on his arm in a gesture that was meant to be comforting. 

 

“I’m sorry you lost her Ned, I am.”

 

“It wasn’t that… I just knew that we weren’t going to be together much longer anyway. Even if she hadn’t died. There’s really only so much of a relationship that you can have with somebody that you can’t touch. It was starting to kind of wear on us I guess. We were fighting a lot, and she wasn’t sleeping at home anymore, and it was starting to feel like I was alone even when I was with her. I loved her a lot, Olive, but she was flawed. And I’m flawed. And our flaws didn’t really go well with each other at the end, and I kind of regret that. So I’m kind of saying that you were right a little. I don’t want to date someone after that,  but it doesn’t mean that I never want to date someone, I  would much rather just date someone that I can touch.”

 

Olive couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. It seemed like Ned was finally dealing with things emotionally. 

 

The waiter returned with their bill and a smile on his face, setting the black book on the table.

 

“Your lunch has been paid for, compliments of that gentleman over there,” the waiter pointed to a tall blond sitting at the bar, waving at them in a friendly manner. Ned recognized Vása as soon as he’d set eyes on him. Thranduil’s warning played in his head, but there were just so many questions that he had. 

 

“Excuse me, I’m going to go and thank him, I’ll be right back,” he told Olive, then stood up to cross the room. He didn’t sit at the bar, but stood a respectable distance away. His stomach rolled uncomfortably, and his palms began to sweat with the nervousness that washed over him. Thranduil’s bias was beginning to get to him.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

“Sure,” Vása’s smile faded from his face a little bit. “I hope that I didn’t step on your toes or anything. Are you on a date?”

 

“No-- and no, that’s not it.” Ned leaned in a little closer, his hands clasped behind his back. “Why do all of the other elves seem to hate Fëanor and his kids…? I mean you had that interview with my friend earlier. Thranduil and--” 

 

Vása’s smile faltered and Ned worried that he’d really stepped over a line there. He hoped that it wasn’t something that was supposed to be kept a big secret, and that he’d gotten Thranduil in some sort of big trouble. He swallowed back the rest of his sentence and had been ready to apologize when Vása interrupted him.

 

“It’s very complicated Ned. The long story short, Fëanor was a very motivated Noldorin elf, and after the death of his father, he was driven to commit some very unspeakable acts. His children followed him blindly, and they were bound to his decisions. They committed acts in his name only because they swore a blood oath, an oath that can not be broken. Because of this they made enemies. Ned, they could not foresee what that oath would bring. They were punished for the loyalty they had to their family. It brought them so much strife and heartache. I can sense that your judgement has been swayed by another. Don’t yet take sides… judge these elves by who they are now, not who they were then. 

 

“Why, even the greatest Kings in Eä made some decisions that were not very good. Thingol chose to hide away in his walls and refused to help others through their suffering. Oropher drove his army to ruin in his rashness and stupidity. We have all made mistakes, but this is a new life. When elves are reborn they are reborn with the memories of their old life. What is worse? People remembering what you’ve done…? Or never being able to escape it for all of eternity in your own mind?”

 

Ned was quiet. Vása had a point. Maedhros… Cam… he wasn’t a bad person. He’d seen Cam out of the corner of his eye, how friendly and helpful he’d been despite his clumsiness with his prosthetic sometimes. Cam had always made an effort to stick around when Ned was particularly swamped, or upset, or angry. They’d had some very heavy talks about how unfair life was-- some things he better understood now that he knew about Middle Earth. 

 

Could Thranduil really be wrong about these people? He’d started to trust Thranduil, but there was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that his newfound friend was a racist… especially against dwarves. An uncomfortable lump rose in his throat, and Ned wasn’t sure whether or not he would be able to consider Thranduil a friend much longer if that kind of behavior continued. It felt like all of his emotions were being pushed up to the surface. There had to be more to it. Thranduil couldn’t be-- Thranduil was a good person… right?

 

“Look, Ned. Take it all in stride. This world isn’t the same as ours. The sooner everyone learns that, the better.” Vása got up from his spot at the bar and smiled over at Olive, bowing his head to her. “Return to your friend Ned. There will be better times to talk about this.”

 

“When?”

 

“I’ll stop by when I have a moment free. You can meet a friend of mine and he’ll be able to explain it much better than I. Fear and frustration can make people speak of others rashly without thinking. Don’t be too hard on Thranduil. I’m sure he was just having a bad day.”

 

Ned wasn’t sure whether he would be able to trust Vása over Thranduil, but it did make sense to at least hear them both out. 

 

“Okay, I guess that works,” he said meekly, and watched as Vása made his way to the door. 

 

“Have a good evening Ned. And do try not to think about it too much.”

 

\-----

 

A gentle hand brought Legolas out of sleep. The cold wind on his face reminded him that he was outside. He’d fallen asleep again much like Men would, his eyes closed. He’d dreamed strange dreams again, somewhere that had seemed so vague and so… unworldly. He would catch glimpses of terribly tall buildings, and fast moving scenery. It took him a few moments to come back to himself, and to realize that once again it was Manwë that he had woken to. 

 

“It is a fair morning,” Manwë greeted him, a starling nestled on his shoulder peacefully. “Would you walk with me Legolas, son of Thranduil? Your friend has offed to get you something to eat.”

 

Legolas looked to the ground to notice that Gimli had left his coat and his boots. It seemed that his friend had slept on the ground below him much rather than climb up into the tree with him. An amused simper crossed his face and lightened his heart. He granted the King a nod before jumping down gracefully from his perch. 

 

“It’s about that dream, isn’t it? I’ve told all I can remember.” Legolas stretched himself to feel limber again, feeling very strangely fatigued in a way that could not be explained, though he blamed it on his grief. The loss of someone so dear weighed not just on the body and mind, but on the spirit. 

 

“Can you repeat it for me?” Manwë had little hope for a faint dream from some time passed. Elves scarcely dreamed at all, and not many bothered to remember what they were dreaming of when they did. He hoped that Legolas would have more insight into the vision that he’d been shown. There had to be a reason for all of the happenings of late, and it was a dark hunch that Manwë feared might just be right. 

 

“I saw darkness. It was very thick, and it swallowed me whole into it,” Legolas started as he walked at the side of Arda’s King. He felt very small, very meek, and it reminded him of when he was young and his father had looked like all the grace in the world had been gifted unto him. “I can’t be sure. I saw some faint flashes of things beyond words. They were not like the Balrogs of old, but they were weeping or crying for their freedom. Like a voice with no form. I dreamed not in much imagery.” The more Legolas tried to remember, the fuzzier the dream seemed to become. 

 

“And the Lady Galadriel could not help you recover memories of what happened in this dream?”

 

“She did not try-- I’m not sure that remembering will be of much help to me. Or you. Or the people of Arda. It was faint and I am quite sure what I was seeing had something to do with the demise of my father.” Legolas felt a deep sense of courage and pride as he stopped in front of Manwë to peer up at him, and Manwë saw in him a fire he could recall from many years prior. “I have to leave Aman. Whatever is happening, whatever course is laid out for me I feel that my destination ends not here. It is pointed somewhere beyond these shores. I must--”

 

“You have sea longing for a place that doesn’t exist in this world,” Manwë whispered, and it made sense to him. For of all the kings and creatures of Eä, Manwë best understood the intent of Ilúvatar. “You remind me much of an elf I once knew. His name was Fëanor, and the fire inside of him was so great in its ambition that it destroyed him. You have a drive much like to his. I can see that your path will take you far, but the Valar can not help you… neither will we hinder you. The path you take is beyond the reach of our power. One of the Fellowship, nay, two. Take with you your dwarf and who you will. You have my leave,” Manwë raised his hand and bowed his head. From there he departed from Legolas, and Legolas looked after him in wonder. It was much like the King had read his heart, seen his desire, and lit the fire within it to carry on. 

 

He would find the remains of his father, and he would follow the longing of the sea to wherever it would take him. No matter how far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this chapter to be really heavy to write, because I kind of want to deal with an issue of racism. And I think that it does need to be addressed between elves and dwarves, and I think that's going to be a recurring issue. My question to the readers is: Do you think I should add a tag for it so people are warned?


	7. A Fork in the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nerdanel- http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Nerdanel
> 
> The elvish means "a star shines upon the hour of our meeting."

Ned had always been fond of the morning. Maybe that had come from opening a bakery that required getting up at ungodly hours to work, or maybe it came from the fact that he really enjoyed the sunrise and going for early morning walks with Digby. This particular morning had turned sour the moment he’d met Thranduil on the stairs. Though friendly smiles and words had been exchanged, Ned’s pulse had started to skyrocket and now he was finding it quite hard to breathe. 

 

In all his articulate glory, he’d blurted that he would love to walk with Thranduil, who was more than delighted to accept as they’d left each other with a sour note the other day. 

 

“I was starting to believe that you were going to be cross with me for a long while yet.” Thranduil was the one who broke the silence, being as genuine as he could be without crossing the line of being too personal, or impolite. “I do owe you an apology Ned, truly. The behavior I exhibited was not the behavior I would like to be remembered for.” 

 

Ned felt his breath squeeze out of his lungs. Both guilt and deep feelings of anxiety scratched at him from the inside making his throat feel like sandpaper and his tongue feel like a heavy wet sponge. He’d made a snap decision about Thranduil-- elves in general, and dwarves as well-- being quite racist. He didn’t reply to Thranduil right away beyond an uncomfortable noise. He fumbled Digby’s leash to the other hand, and then fiddled with the clasp on his coat. 

 

He couldn’t keep his mind off of the differences in culture between Eä and Earth. Was racism even recognized the same way there? Maybe the way Elves and Dwarves treated each other was normal. Soon enough he came to realize the mistake that he’d made of judging both elves and dwarves by the standards of men from another universe, but that still didn’t make him feel any better. Not after what Vása had told him.

 

“You… are still angry,” Thranduil observed. “And upset.”

 

“Yes-- No. A little of both I guess but I don’t think it’s completely your fault. Some of it maybe, because that really could have been handled better than… punching a guy in the face. I keep wondering about your world, and Elves, and Dwarves, and Hobbits. I really don’t understand anything about you guys, and I don’t understand enough about your culture to really be making any snap decisions. I mean, I don’t even know for sure if you greet each other by punching each other in the face, or hugging, or kissing each cheek. It’s all so complicated. I kind of get that you and Thorin don’t like each other, and I kind of get why… but all elves and dwarves? Is that just… how it is? You don’t… you don’t just dislike Thorin because he’s a dwarf right? I know that’s a really awful thing to ask someone but It’s a thought that’s been going through  my head and I’m not really sure if I want to know…”

 

Thranduil looked on at Ned with a hard stare and wondered just how it would be best to approach this conversation. There were no simple answers to explain the way he felt about dwarves, or Thorin, or how politics in his world had worked. It would also be much harder to approach a conversation and not be hurt by the accusation against his character.  

 

“Our cultures, mine and yours, are very different, but I can assure you that punching one another is not an accepted form of greeting, though it may be amongst dwarves depending on the dwarf. I punched Thorin because I was very angry. I was unable to contain the stress and centuries of upset--”

 

“Centuries?” 

 

“Centuries. The job of bearing a crown comes with its share of stresses, and it was by travelling to Aman that I was to find peace and be healed.” Thranduil closed his eyes and let the feeling of sorrow wash away as it would do him no good at this moment. He needed to be of a clear and level head. “Dwarves and elves have barely ever been benevolent and friendly toward each other as a whole. My Son’s comrade is a dwarf, a son of one of the company which I imprisoned. Gimli is an honorable dwarf among his people, and he along with my son were great heroes in the war of the Ring. You see, it isn’t a matter of the race of dwarves as a whole. They are a stubborn people, yes, but what they’ve known of life is known by hard work and misfortune. As  is the way of things. I have more reason than most to have ill feelings toward dwarves. Mainly, they murdered my King. There came a war over greed and neither side were faultless, the tale is told differently by elves and dwarves alike. 

 

“I do not dislike Thorin Oakenshield because he is a dwarf, I dislike Thorin Oakenshield because he treads where he pleases without leave, presents himself in arrogance, and takes no word of advice from anyone, not even his kin. I forgave him for trespassing on my land and what he did in sickness of his gold after his death, so naturally he would not remember it.” Thranduil looked on at Ned, who seemed to have found the ability to breathe again. 

 

“My question to you Pie Maker is: … What kind of person do you perceive me to be that you would assume I would dislike them because of their race? Do I present myself thusly?” Thranduil looked hurt, placing his hand over his chest and drawing his lips thin. 

 

Ned stopped for a second to look at Thranduil timidly. Of course it had been a stupid question to ask, and at that very moment he was chastising himself for asking it in the first place, even if the answer had given him at least a little peace of mind.

 

“No… I kind of just wondered because of everything you were saying. The way you talk about Cam and Vása made me kind of wonder because they’ve both been nothing but nice to me. And I know sometimes people aren’t always what they seem to be but I kind of have faith in my ability to read people. I think they’re both good people. And maybe the people they associate with aren’t, but… everyone makes mistakes right? They kind of both died in your world. Isn’t that kind of enough to deal with?”

 

Thranduil stopped walking too and creased his brow, his whole countenance tense and cooling to a less friendly approach.  

 

“There are some things, Pie Maker, that not even death can forgive. Kinslaying is one of those things. Ned you don’t understand the severity of what they’ve done. I’m not asking you to dislike them I’m giving you counsil to be cautious. Elves who commit so much evil can be twisted into Orcs. Their fëa changes their physical appearance to match the person they are inside… but be warned… not every orc has ugly features.”

 

“I killed someone,” Ned admitted suddenly. Panic rose up in the Pie Maker’s chest as he searched quickly for the words to explain himself. His eyes looked through Thranduil, feeling the thickness of the air grow even more choked. Once Ned was sure that there were no others around except for them, he continued: “I killed someone and that’s the reason you’re alive. And I’ve done it before too. Once was accidentally on purpose, and the other was also kind of… accidentally on purpose. I mean it’s not like I wanted to kill someone as much as it was that I just… really wanted the people I was saving to be alive… but the fact remains that it never turned out well, and it never, ever goes away. I killed my girlfriend’s dad when I brought my mother back to life, and I killed some guy I didn’t even know to bring my girlfriend back to life. And then she died. Again. Because of me. Maybe I’m a kinslayer too. 

 

“Because those choices were mine. And if I could do them all over again I would do them every single time because they lead me to where I am now. From what I’ve heard some of those people were driven by forces they didn’t understand and had no control over whatsoever. And how could you know? Did you know Cam?”

 

“I didn’t have to,” Thranduil snapped, then stood up over Ned to glower down at him. “Maedhros, Son of Fëanor did not just murder people. He partook in the slaughter of hundreds of innocent lives for the sake of a gem!” Thranduil made no discernable reaction to the news that Ned had killed someone on his behalf. He was well aware of the sacrifice of Ned’s gift, and it was a burden he too carried on his shoulders. The weight of the realization that his life was a gift in place of another innocent person was a burden beyond something Ned might not understand on Thranduil’s behalf.

 

Ned clicked his jaw shut and looked upon Thranduil who’s face was twisted with his anger, his fists balled at his sides. 

 

“I am grateful for the life you’ve given me Ned. I know not of your story behind the people who died by your hand, but I too have killed. Men, orcs, goblins, wargs, spiders. All in the defense of my people. Death and murder all come at a price inside of ourselves. It is a price incomprehensible. There is no excuse and you must live with what you’ve done and who you’ve buried. I am certain that your deeds were not done of malice, but there are roads taken by the intent of good that lead but to evil. You understand very little. The toll that was taken on the people of Doriath, of the world as a whole… the events that Fëanor set into motion… It isn’t forgivable.” Thranduil let his hands loosen as he stepped back and away from Ned.  “Don’t lecture me on forgiveness, their battle isn’t mine to forgive. But I will not put myself in the position to be friends with these people. Nor will I think ever again for working under them.”

 

Ned tucked his hands under his arms and tilted his head at Thranduil. The chill between them seemed to grow darker, and it started to feel like the friendship that they’d started to have was crumbling out from under them minute by minute. Thranduil relented on his anger and decided that patience was perhaps the better path to take with Ned. He had admitted that he knew little to nothing about their world… but he seemed to know an awful lot about Fëanor and the oath. He kept his suspicions in his back pocket and gestured for them to walk on. 

 

“I don’t mean to be so stubborn. Perhaps you are a better person than I for finding a way to give forgiveness for such cruelty. I would prefer we not talk about this again, lest it cause strife between us further. We both are in the right of differing opinions, and it is your decision whether or not you should heed the counsel of an elf; for what it is worth anyway. As we are known to say both yes and no.”

 

Ned didn’t know whether to feel relieved or patronized. It was a fine line between Thranduil telling him not to talk about what he didn’t know about, and trying to preserve the hair thin threads that their new friendship was balanced on. He felt a rush of reliefhorrordistraught when he’d realized again that he’d admitted to Thranduil that he’d killed Chuck. They’d barely known each other for more than a few weeks.

 

“You can’t tell anybody. What I told you. It could expose me and I can’t do that. I don’t want to end up stuck in a lab room somewhere while they cut away at me until there’s nothing left just so that they can find out what makes me tick. Or you know. Go to jail because I maybe kept alive the people I loved at the expense of other people’s lives. Because I’ve been to jail and I really don’t want to go back.”

 

“Your secret is and has been safe with me, Pie Maker. Not an utterance of it will leave me, even in peril or whether we be enemies or friends. I owe you my life and your secrets are well kept.” Thranduil could feel a reticent mood coming over him; it was a terrible and empty feeling to stare at the gap that had been made between the two of them so easily. Ned merely nodded at Thranduil’s promise, and the lull that came between them was left unbroken until they both returned to the Pie Hole. 

 

“I’ll see you after work I guess,” Ned commented, then shrugged his shoulders up as if to convey that he didn’t know just if that was what he wanted or not. Thranduil guessed not, though he was not opposed to a little space between them so that they could both clear their minds and be free of animosity. Difference in opinion was bound to happen eventually, but Thranduil definitely did not want that to break apart their budding friendship. There were too few people that he trusted yet, and it was beginning to feel inevitable that he and Ned would drift apart.

 

\-----

 

Ned paced the kitchen of the Pie Hole, chewing his thumb. He felt as though he was going to have a panic attack. Being pulled in too many directions, he felt like he was being metaphorically drawn and quartered. On one hand, Thranduil had never lied to him. He’d done his best to be honorable and keep his word. On the other, it seemed like his whole worldview was incredibly biased and stubborn. But was he biased for a good reason? Vása could be biased too. The facts were that he knew more about Thranduil than he knew about Vása, and Cam-- Maedhros-- had been reluctant to talk about anything involving his family. 

 

There were so many unanswered questions. It was strange not having Emerson to bounce his ideas off of, or receive reluctant advice from. The booth to the right of the door seemed strangely dusty to the Pie Maker, and he found that he missed the one sided conversations he used to have with Emerson Cod. At least he had always been a voice of reason and sense as far as morality would go. Ned was certain that if Emerson truly was there, he would most likely be telling him not to go and get his hands dirty in something like large political affairs. He could always call Olive, and he knew that she would be grateful to be on the receiving end of things for once-- but he would have to edit too much of the story for her to be a shoulder to lean on. Too many lies was just stressful and confusing.

 

Why had he told Thranduil about having been responsible for people’s deaths? How was Thranduil  _ okay  _ with that? Why had he opened his mouth at all? Ned could ask himself these questions all day, but the more he thought about it, the more his stomach began to ache with anxiety. He shouldn’t have said anything at all. He was so used to having someone around he could speak to about his gift, it was a dangerous thing. What if Thranduil did decide to tell someone? His whole life could be ruined because he’d gotten too emotional and he’d gone and told his own secret. Something he’d  _ never  _ thought he would be capable of doing. 

 

This was a disaster. 

 

After about 15 minutes of pacing, Ned told himself that he was thinking too much about it, but the rest of the day went no smoother than the morning. Cam hadn’t come into work, and he was short handed, baking pie and waiting tables at the same time. Frazzled, anxious, and upset, Ned felt a wave of relief when he saw Vása in the dining room of the Pie Hole. 

 

With him, there seemed to be a lean, tall brunette woman with striking grey eyes. She looked uncomfortable to say the least, like walking into the Pie Hole had given her a serious case of indigestion. That must have been the friend that Vása was talking about. Ned noticed that the tips of her ears were visible through the swoop of hair that pulled back into the serious secretary bun that she was packing. All in all, this woman radiated an air of intimidation and condescension.  

 

“Welcome to the Pie Hole, can I get you guys anything?” For lack of a better greeting, Ned shot for the standard. Vása could be there for a slice of pie and not small talk, afterall. 

 

“Cherry for me, please Pie Maker,” Vása smiled. There was something Ned found incredibly comforting about Vása’s smile. The warm brown eyes that reflected back to him a strange comfort and intelligence. It made Ned’s shoulders unwind and his breath come just a little easier. Like coming home after a long day.

 

“Nothing for me,” the woman sniped, then strode across the room to sit at one of the tables. 

 

“Sorry about Anna, she is just a little bit sour with me today. You’re pretty busy. Are you on your own? It looks like things are a little backed up.” Vása gave a sympathetic shrug and didn’t wait for Ned to reply before he made his way to go sit across from the woman he’d come with. Frustrated, Ned felt an uncomfortable stirring in his chest that he just couldn’t put his finger on. He swept around the dining room to make sure everyone was served and happy. There was something to be said for being able to pull a customer service smile and look calm on the outside while internally having a panic attack. After he was sure that his customers were happy, he brought Vása’s cherry pie. 

 

“I’m short staffed today, sorry about the wait. I’ll give you a discount,” Ned offered sheepishly. Vása waved his hand and pushed the chair out for Ned to sit with them.

 

“Take a break Pie Maker, people are eating. You can afford a fifteen minute conversation can’t you?”

 

Ned glanced over his shoulder uneasily. It was incredibly unprofessional to sit down when there were other things that needed to be taken care of, but it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. In fact, it had always been a habit when Emerson was around. They would sit and discuss cases, but in this matter, Ned figured that he could pass it off as work if he did ask a few questions about the case that he and Emerson had been looking into. 

 

The chair was a little bit of an awkward fit for him with two other people around the small table, but he crossed his ankles under his seat and folded his hands uncomfortably in his lap. Anna hadn’t lost her hostile edge in the time that Ned had stepped away. In fact, it felt like her eyes were boring through him in an accusatory way. 

 

“So you wanted to know about the Fëanorians?” Vása asked, then leaned his chin onto his knuckles while he spooned himself a bite of pie. 

 

“Well, kind of. But that’s not all, really. I kind of want to know about the warehouse too. But I have a lot of questions; like I kind of get that everyone’s mad at them because they killed a whole bunch of people--”

 

“Why do you even care? How do you even know about Eä? You want to know an awful lot for a human that’s from this world-- or are you from this world? Did you come from Eä? Are you one of the men that died there? This isn’t just some game, and you can’t just go around asking personal questions about us because you’re curious. What right do you even have to be asking?” Anna’s voice was clipped and cut through Ned’s stuttering resolve like an expertly sharpened knife. “It really isn’t any of your business.”

 

“Well, my friend is kind of lying in a hospital room because of some sort of evil… thing, that people keep telling me could have some connection to your world. I guess I kind of-- well I found Thranduil after he came here and took care of him because he was confused and lost, and I guess he didn’t know he wasn’t in Middle Earth when he woke up because he kept talking about a boat or something.” Ned took in a shaking breath and put his hands on the table. “I’m kind of in the middle of things even though I didn’t ask to be, I would really  _ like  _ to just go back to baking pie and ignoring this, and just living a normal life before I realized that Elves and monsters were real. I don’t think that’s an option. So it’s probably best that I have at least some knowledge so that I don’t go doing stupid things like asking about… whatever the one ring was. Or the war. Or crossing some really awful cultural line like saying the kinslayings weren’t a big deal- and I’m not saying that, it’s just an example- or something. I would normally say no to knowing, but… I guess it’s kind of too late for that.”

 

Anna eyed Ned again with a callous attitude etched into her perfect features. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Vása venomously, but he seemed to be paying more attention to Ned than reading too much into her intense glower. 

 

“I just want to know why people don’t get along with the Fëanorians,” Ned asked quietly. He’d completely lost his train of thought. Right then, he forgot completely about asking about what had happened at the warehouse. Anna finally relented her rotten attitude and squared her shoulders to Ned. 

 

“It has a lot to do with politics, but a lot more to do with an oath that they swore because of the Silmarils. The silmarils were three very precious gems that were forged by Fëanor himself. He was said to have a fiery spirit, and these jewels were unlike anything to ever be made, or unlike anything that would ever be made again, and some people think it was because of that spirit. A dark lord coveted these gems above all else, and he committed the first act of bloodshed in that world by slaying Fëanor’s father and taking those jewels for himself. 

 

“Fëanor and his kin all swore a blood oath to retrieve those jewels and not rest until they had. It was a dark and terrible oath that drove them to commit heinous acts against the people of Arda. The Noldor fell out of favor with the Sindar elves, and no great love was shared between them. There was more to do with it than with the Silmarils. The flight of the Noldor came after the oath, and they followed Fëanor to certain peril. The first kinslaying took place in the City of Aqualondë, and from there their reputation with the Teleri-- um. The Sindar, grew ever worse. Thranduil is a Sindar elf, I do believe, if he holds such a grudge against the Noldor, that is what I would guess. 

 

“That said, the atrocities that fell in the wake of the Noldor is a fair enough reason to not trust them. But this world isn’t the same. There are elves like Vása and I who commit our lives to making sure that the darkness of our world doesn’t rise again in this one. We work together to keep the drama of our past lives in check. See, Vása works for the Fëanorians to keep an eye on their activities. I work for an organization that keeps track of all of the elven people in this world, or others that have memories of Eä, We provide resources to those who need it, mainly financial aid.” Anna pulled a card from her pocket and slid it gingerly across the table to Ned, who picked it up to give it a once over. “Perhaps you should send your friend Thranduil over to us. And you should definitely learn to keep your mouth shut. Our people have it hard enough as it is adjusting. We don’t need the whole world of humans suddenly descending on us like ravenous insects.”

 

Without another word, Anna stood up from her seat, brushed off her suit, and walked out of the Pie Hole as if she was glad to get away from the likes of the Pie Maker. Ned turned the card over in his hand and tucked it into his apron pocket, less offended than he probably should have been by the huffy exit. He could understand not wanting to be found out, truthfully, he wanted the same thing for himself. The less that they knew about each other the better. But Vása seemed to disagree.

 

“Look, she’s not usually that unfriendly. She just takes some warming up to,” he whispered, but then looked around the restaurant. He sighed wistfully and stood up, pulling a bill from his wallet to give to Ned to pay for his pie. “I hope that at least answered some of your questions.”

 

“Not really all of them,” Ned admitted. “I’m still confused, but it’s a clearer picture. I guess. I mean not really. I’m still just as confused as I was before. I still don’t know who the Noldor are, or what the difference is between the Noldor and the Sindar, or-- Teleri? I’ve heard about Silvan elves too. I guess I never realized that there were so many classifications of elves and it’s really hard to know what I’m doing right or wrong here because I really don’t know anything at all. I feel like I just got yelled at for asking a question in the most convoluted way possible-- oh my god I bet that’s what I sound like to other people. It is, isn’t it?” Ned closed his eyes tightly and pushed his face into his hands with a frustrated sigh.

 

“I can get you a few of our history books I guess. Some of the people around here have written things down, but others just prefer to forget. Our history is more word of mouth now, but I’ll see what I can get my hands on. But… To put it simply the difference between the Noldor and the Sindar is kind of like-- well have you read the story Romeo and Juliet? They’re like the Capulets and the Montagues. There’s not really a whole lot of difference between them, but a lot of really heated bickering. In this case, with more bloodshed.”

 

“So I’m in the middle of Elven Shakespeare.”

 

“More or less, but a lot more complicated.” Vása smiled and touched Ned’s arm gently. “This might be sort of bold… but I was wondering if you would be interested in going for a cup of coffee with me later. I need to catch up to Anna before she gets too upset with me, but I would really like to spend a little more time with you. I think it’s kind of endearing that you’re putting so much effort into learning our culture… and you know, it was kind of brave when you faced that monster. Truth be told, I’d like to learn more about humans.”

 

Ned’s jaw went slack and he fumbled with something to say. His mouth went dry, and he could feel the anxiety induced sting of acid reflux that prevented him from saying anything distinguishable.

 

“It’s just coffee Pie Maker, I’m not asking you on a date,” Vása prodded, which only served to further Ned’s embarrassment.

 

“Coffee. Coffee sounds good,” he responded an octave higher than he’d expected to. Vása smiled over at Ned and let go of his arm, sweeping out the door after his associate. Ned stood rooted to the spot, his hand wringing the edge of his apron until a patron from across the dining room called out to him. Time to get back to work.

 

\-----

 

Plentiful clouds gathered above the city of Tirion. They had spent a good portion of the day roaring with thunder, flashing with lightning, and absolutely pissing rain. Legolas walked alongside Gimli over the soggy street toward the edge of the city. There had been not much more than silence between them since Legolas had spoken briefly to Manwë, but Gimli didn’t need words to see the desire of his friend’s heart. 

 

They would be leaving Valinor before too long, he expected. While Gimli’s heart had fallen for this bright and wonderful land, he wouldn’t pull himself away from the side of his friend when he was most needed. It was known that the dwarven race were hard headed and loyal to a fault. Even if Legolas had given him leave to stay in Aman, Gimli would stubbornly follow him wherever he decided to travel, simply because he knew that Legolas would do the same for his favor. 

 

He wasn’t the same young dwarf he used to be, but so long as he could still swing a weapon, he was of the mind that he could still be useful. So it was that they stood side by side in the rain at the borders of Tirion with one idea in mind. If they were about to go on a quest, who else to consult about adventure than the disturber of the peace? Gandalf the White. 

 

The rumors had said that he’d disappeared not long after arriving on the white shores. He’d been absolute in his decision that whatever befell Middle Earth now, he’d done his part and he deserved rest. There was no doubt in Legolas’ mind that he was right. 

 

_ ‘He will not come easily,’  _ Galadriel had warned them. Gimli thought back to the afternoon tea that they’d all sat down for, and he would have enjoyed it more if only for being in the Lady’s presence if they gloom of the conversation hadn’t spoiled it. And now he was outside in the dreadful rain about to set forth on a wild goose chase. 

 

_ ‘Take with you this letter. Mithrandir has ever been a dear friend to those who need him most, and this may serve as his reminder.’  _ Galadriel had handed Gimli a letter in fine Tengwar print, written in what looked like shimmering golden ink. His heart had fluttered at the slight curve of her lips, and the way she laughed like the air around a bell when he’d pledged that he would keep safe the letter with his own life. 

 

She had been as beautiful as the day he had first laid eyes upon her, and still as they walked it gave Gimli peace to remember her presence. In a gentlemanly way a’course, as he wasn’t one to go lusting after a married lass, as he’d told Legolas who had cast a teasing gaze on him as soon as they’d set foot in the rain. 

 

“Well, now what?” Gimli asked gruffly. “Are we just goin’ta stand on the border all day or are we goin’ta get to it?” He harrumphed as he rearranged himself under his hood to follow Legolas lead, but still he stood and only scanned the horizons. In truth, he had no real idea which direction they should even start in. Gandalf may have known them well enough to perceive their hearts, but never did he show himself so plainly to them. It was hard to say where the Wizard would be. After all, if a Wizard didn’t want to be found, it was going to be nearly impossible to find him.

 

“North, I think. Into the mountains. Back toward Aqualondë, or perhaps toward Valimar. Either way we look at it, I’m quite sure we’re to thoroughly check both cities. I do suppose that at this point, with no direction in mind, we can travel in any direction. With no destination, it doesn’t much matter.” It was a dim outlook, surely, but at least it was the start of a thought of where to begin looking for a needle in a haystack.

 

Gimli put his hands on his hips and started out toward the mountains, which might have been visible more on the horizon if it wasn’t for the heavy blanket of clouds in the sky pouring rain down on them.

 

“Or… we can go south to Taniquetil. There we may seek council from Manwë of what direction we might seek Gandalf in.” Legolas suggested, and smiled amusedly as Gimli spun comically on his heel to give a frustrated look. Legolas’ navigation had  _ never  _ been trustworthy. 

 

“Aye, I can get behind an idea like that I suppose. I haven’t seen a mountain more glorious than Erebor until I laid mine eyes upon the likes of that one. I would like to see it closer again. A fine idea,” Gimli chortled and started on the way, Legolas following after him. He paused on the path, though, to turn back and see a speckled face looking on at them. She was a tall elf with fiery red hair visible below her white hood. Legolas looked back at her strangely before Gimli stopped to look back with him to see just what was taking him so long.

 

“Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo,” she greeted with a fine accent on her breath. “My name is Nerdanel, and it is my wish to accompany you where you might go. There was a rumor-- nay a whispering that you might be leaving Aman to travel to a land unknown. I wish to go with you.” 

 

Legolas and Gimli exchanged a look between them in wondering just who might have sent Nerdanel to seek them out, and it seemed that separately they came to the conclusion that perhaps Galadriel had done more for them than they had known just yet. 

 

“It would be our pleasure to have you along,” Legolas responded gratefully. “Though, we know not yet which direction we should be off in permanently. For now the decision is that we are to go south in search of word of Mithrandir. If you could be of any help to us in finding him...”

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where he might be. But I have too long lingered in this land and I crave knowledge beyond these shores. I’ve remained constrained here too long behind walls that are no longer a comfort but mimic a cage. If you take me away from this land, I don’t care just where we might go. So long as we find a book I haven’t read, I will find contentment in our travels.”

 

“Well then, come along! The longer we stand out in the rain the longer and more unpleasant the journey might be,” Gimli pointed out. 

 

Off they travelled, covered by the shadow of the great mountain, a pair of travelling companions then became a company of three, and between them they joked of what to call themselves. Thorin had called their passing a Company, Elrond had named the Fellowship, but it was Gimli who suggested that together and who else might come along with them be called a Clan; it was Nerdanel’s suggestion that they had finalized. From thence forth they were known together as the Gathering Clan, as they intended to gather knowledge, friendship, and the things which had long been lost.

 

\-----

 

Coffee, Ned decided, had not been as bad of an idea as he’d thought it would be. Vása had turned out to be wickedly funny; he was a bright creature, and for once, Ned’s mind was very far away from his anxieties. They had talked briefly about Emerson, but Ned had long forgotten the questions he’d wanted to ask when the conversation turned to something that easily distracted the Pie Maker. Together they had talked about earlier years in which they both had fallen in love with the Star Wars franchise. It turned out that Vása was as much of a fan of the old movies as Ned was, and they’d bonded over it for a good long hour before Ned realized that it was getting late. 

 

“Thank you for indulging me, Ned. I do hope that we can do this again,” Vása had smiled. As they left one another, the elf had taken the time to give Ned a tight hug. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow perhaps.”

 

“Yeah--” Ned felt his muscles stiffen. He’d never been a huge fan of hugging people, especially people he didn’t know very well. The hug had been just long enough for him to relax into it, but just short enough that it left him confused on whether he was uncomfortable or craving that affection just a little bit more. It was a hug he thought about all the way home; about what it meant, about how nobody except Olive had hugged him in a very, very long time, but mostly about how it made him realize that he was lonely. 

 

The first thing that Ned did when he returned to the Pie Hole was knock on the apartment door that used to be Olive’s, that used to be Chuck’s, that used to be Olive’s again.  To his delight, he found just who he was looking for, and the awkwardness of their morning conversation had dissipated into a light strain.

 

“So, I think I kind of owe you an apology again,” Ned shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t really realize how difficult things were between the Sindar and the Noldor, and I kind of should probably respect that more. And I know, I know you said we shouldn’t talk about it and I kind of agree because I really don’t… understand things. So let’s not talk about it and can I just apologize instead by offering you dinner and we can forget how much of an ass I’ve been?”

 

Thranduil couldn’t help the slow smile that stretched across his face from the perplexing apology and the simple offer of dinner. Even if he was uncomfortable, he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to dine with Ned, or rekindle their withering companionship.

 

“That sounds quite delightful. Apology accepted, and I offer you my own. Perhaps next time I should try to give you an unbiased education of the history behind our strife before getting angry at you for what you’ve said. After all, there is much we do not understand about each other.” Thranduil stepped out of his apartment and closed the door behind him with a gentle click. 

 

“I talked to an elf named Anna today. She gave me her card and said you should call her. She works for this place that gives financial aid to people like you. You know. The ones that came from Eä, and don’t really have many resources.” Ned pat himself down until he found the card, then offered it out to Thranduil, who took it delicately between his two fingers and looked at it. He still could not read what the card said, and shame settled into his stomach at the realization that he would have to ask for help on how to understand it. 

 

That could wait. Thranduil simply tucked the card away for safekeeping next to the toy soldier in his pocket. He followed Ned into his dimly lit apartment and knelt down to scratch his fingers over a squirmy and excited Digby. 

 

“You know… when he’s not in the Pie Hole with me, I think Digby could use some company. Would you mind doing that? I think it would be nice. He’s good company. If you’re home anyway. Or you can take him with you. He really likes you.”

 

“I think that would be lovely. I miss my steed. Her name was Alagos, and she was a great beast with power and a golden heart. It would be nice to have the companionship of another being while on my walks, and Digby is very welcome to join me.” A comfortable silence fell over them. The warmth of the late day drawing into a dark evening was enough to calm him. Thranduil paused as he looked at the rays of sun that stretched shadows across the carpet. It was unusual for the Pie Maker to be so late home. 

 

“Did you go on a case today? I did not think you would be going without your partner to aid you.”

 

“No. No I just went for coffee with Vása.” Ned didn’t have any desire to hide the truth from Thranduil… not after their fight this morning. He glanced over his shoulder to where Thranduil was sitting on the floor. For a moment he stopped to admire the way that the sun hit Thranduil’s face. His usually steely blue eyes seemed to warm up with the soft orange that cast through his curtains. Ned almost didn’t want to continue the conversation. He could simply look at Thranduil all evening if he wanted to. It was kind of unfair how beautiful the guy was. Like he rolled out of bed and effortlessly was perfect in every way. Which was kind of true, seeing as elves didn’t sleep much.

 

“He told me why he’s been working for Fëanor. He said that he works there to keep an eye on them… kind of… you know, make sure that they aren’t doing anything shady, or rolling with some criminals or anything.” It felt like a mistake the minute he stopped talking. A change of subject probably would have been better, but there was no taking it back now. Ned turned back to continue to chop vegetables with a steady hand.

 

Thranduil seemed skeptical, but he did suppose that it was a valid reason for being there, and it did make a great deal of sense then why Vása had so hastily turned him down for a job. As the pieces clicked into place, Thranduil began to feel like he had overreacted. There was simply something that he could not let go of. There was something instinctual that refused to let him drop his mistrust for Vása. 

 

“I don’t think I can trust Anna or Vása just yet.” Thranduil felt his annoyance beginning to return. While he did admit that some help would be appreciated, he did not want any help from Vása; as stubborn as that seemed even in his own mind, the thought of having them keep an eye on him made Thranduil shudder with discomfort. He stood back up to his full height, and just that quickly, the stiff air between them returned. 

 

“Yes. But, you don’t have to… contact them. Not if you don’t want to right? I thought I’d just suggest it because you got turned down for that job--”

 

“By the same person who offered you this card. Ned--”

 

“No, not the same person! Anna! She didn’t seem happy to talk to me either because I’m a human and I’m not supposed to know about you at all okay?”

 

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Thranduil returned to him calmly. “Specifically, if I remember I asked you not to help, Ned. I told you very firmly that I did not need your help and that this was something I should be doing on my own. Besides the case, Ned, my information is not yours to give to these people. I would appreciate it if you did not mention me again to them at all. Please-- take this card back.” Thranduil pulled the card from his pocket and set it upon the counter. He felt remorse in having turned down the Pie Maker, but Ned had already done so much. 

 

How could he simply take money for not having earned it? No. There was still some sense of duty in him, and he refused to feel as though he was taking charity any longer. His resolve bobbled as he met Ned’s eyes and found disappointment there again. Or something more. Had he offended Ned? His chest ached as he looked down into the round face of the Pie Maker, and the usual warmth he found in Ned’s eyes was replaced with something distant and very sad.

 

“Fine. But keep the card. You might change your mind.”

 

“No,” Thranduil insisted firmly, but kept his voice calm and steady. “Thank you. If I do find myself in need of aid I surely have friends I can call on.”

 

“I thought  _ we  _ were friends,” Ned dared, and then realized his mistake. He had thought that they were friends, but in the end Thranduil was a King. An Elvenking. And maybe the only thing that bound them together was a mutual unusual happening that brought Thranduil back to life. It hurt Thranduil’s heart to realize too that perhaps they weren’t on a path that could end in friendship. Maybe they had been at some point, but it was no good to continue to run into walls with one another. Thranduil knew he was allowing his pride to come between them, but that was his own hurdle. There was no need to put that on Ned any longer. 

 

“We are, but if we are to remain friends I do think that I should put some distance between us. You have a friendship with someone I cannot stand, and while he’s around I very much do not want to be.  Nor do I ever wish for you to have to choose between the people you consider dear to you. Ned, I think I will gather my things. Thank you for your continued hospitality.” It took a great deal of force and willpower for Thranduil to keep his voice steady. There were just some things that he wished to do alone, and Ned’s mother-henning was beginning to cross a line.

 

Ned felt his heart jump into his throat, and while his brain tried to think of something to say, his hands fumbled with the card on the counter to lift away and put in his pocket. He’d never been a very big fan of change, and the concept of putting distance between two people to bring them closer together had always gone over his head. But while he longed to tell his friend-- yes, confirmed friend-- that he should stay, and that financially it wasn’t a problem, he feared that he would sound too clingy. So instead, he smiled a calm smile and choked back what he wanted to say in favor of:

 

“Good luck then, I guess.” 

 

Thranduil gave a neat bow of his head before leaving Ned’s apartment much swifter than he’d come. And just like that Ned felt the hole in his chest that had begun to fill again empty, and there he was left with the friend who had never left his side. Digby. 

 

\-----

 

At 11:45 at night, Bilbo Baggins was awoken by a knock on the door. He shuffled from his warm spot in bed beside a dozing dwarf and wandered down the hall. It seemed strange that he would be getting a visitor so unusually late at night, but still Bilbo Baggins would be a good host, give them a good evening, and wander back to bed. 

 

Or, he would have if he hadn’t opened the door to Thranduil, gaze downcast, and an armful of what looked like clothes. It only took Bilbo a second to realize that that was all that Thranduil owned in this world, and he found his heart dropping through the floor when he heard the ashamed utterance:

 

“Would it be too much trouble if I were to stay with you for a little while?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so the flow of this chapter bothers me a little bit, but I'm really excited to write the next chapter. I am also really excited to be writing Nerdanel into this fic, because I'm excited to experiment with her character as things go on.
> 
> I also want to remind people that I may deviate a little bit from the canonical Time Lines sometimes, either because my memory is awful or because it suited the story better. I'm also sorry if I've been misusing terms for things. I know I misused "The Grey Havens" at one point in a previous chapter, and I think I've mixed up Eä and Arda and Aman more than once in a sentence but ah well. 
> 
> As always, thank you guys for reading along! The next couple updates might not come on time because my Grandmother is in the hospital after having broken her femur, and we're going out to take care of her. ♥ I will try to keep updated at least once a week though! Week seven! I'm so proud!


	8. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ho fuck okay, so here's your warning for this chapter: This chapter contains gore, disturbing material, mentions of rape, and heavy subject matter. Proceed at your own digression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be a little confusing, and I might come back to edit some things to make them clearer later on. This chapter was supposed to cover some other subjects, but I was in the mood for something dark and disturbing, so I hope this reads as chilling as it's intended to be.

Ned looked up at the table in front of him. It felt like the whole world had slowed to an agonizing still. The peak of summer was upon them, and the demand for different flavors of pie had changed, which meant finding a new rhythm in the day. It felt like his life was going back to normal. He’d regained some semblance of schedule again, but it felt hollow. He knew he missed Thranduil, and Olive, and Emerson. He missed having someone who lived next to him.

 

He missed the mornings where he would go up to the roof, and he would find his next door neighbor standing amongst the flowers admiring them. It was familiar to someone who did that long before, but entirely different at the same time. While Chuck would spend more time with her eyes on the flowers and the bees, Thranduil would turn to greet him and stare at him with the same appreciation that he’d been admiring the flowers with. It wasn’t something that Ned knew he’d missed until it had stopped happening.

 

As much as he missed Thranduil, he was also more than happy to know [in snippits] that Thranduil had been doing well for himself. He also knew that Olive’s business at The Inrepid Cow was booming, and Emerson had woken up in the hospital a week prior, and he didn’t remember anything significant about what’d put him there. Ned lied to him.

 

Ned had told Emerson that he’d had a minor stroke, which was consistent with what the doctors had figured had happened to him. There had been no other explanation, and Vása hadn’t outed Ned. Emerson knew enough about Ned’s gift, but there was no way he was going to believe that some poltergeist or something knocked him on his ass and sent him to the hospital. If he hadn’t seen it himself, Ned wouldn’t have believed it either. In fact, he didn’t talk much about what happened there unless he was talking to Vása. 

 

Vása was great company. He would drop by The Pie Hole once a day or so for a cup of tea and peach heaven pie. He’d been inviting, and seemed to respect Ned’s avoidance of touch. They’d become close quickly, and Ned found his heart fluttering when he was close enough to touch. It was nice to go out with somebody he could hold hands with without the fear of their demise, but Olive would owe Emerson 20 dollars.

 

Vása had a sweet tooth and his visits had quickly become the high points of Ned’s day. He would look forward to the secret cheek kisses, the sweeping by one another as Vása stepped out the door, and even the heart pounding peck on the lips they’d had that one time when Ned had tried for Vása’s cheek and missed. It was all sickeningly sweet, and he’d really loved it being their little secret.

 

Bilbo would drop by from time to time as well, and Ned enjoyed those visits just as much. He was the same friendly Hobbit he always was, and he got on well with Vása when the three of them would sit for Ned’s afternoon coffee break. Ned was certain that Bilbo was catching onto them, but he wouldn’t say a word about it unless he was confronted. Vása seemed just as content to keep their secret.

 

At this very moment, Ned, Bilbo, and Thorin sat around a table enjoying the cool breeze of the air conditioning, and the warm company of friends. 

 

“It’s dry this season, very dry,” Bilbo prattled on, as he had for the past ten minutes now. He’d been talking about his prized tomatoes and how well they’d done at the Fair each year he’d entered them. Except the year he went to Erebor of course-- and then a friendly nudge at Thorin who seemed absorbed into enjoying his Strawberry Pie. Even when Thorin spoke, it never carried on longer than a minute or two. 

 

“I noticed that kind of. I have a garden on  the roof and I have to be careful watering them or they kind of-- well…” Ned shrugged and set his cup of coffee down, rubbing his hands on the towel he pulled from his pocket. Gardening was a lot easier when you could touch your plants back to life, but that felt like cheating. “Maybe you can give me some tips?” 

 

That wasn’t what Ned wanted to ask, and of course that would have sent Bilbo off on another hour long rave about gardening if it wasn’t for Thorin interrupting him:

 

“The Elvenking is fine,” he watched Ned over his own steaming cup, then took a long drink. “The same King he always was even if he doesn’t like it said aloud. Got a job, and an income now, but easy to tell he isn’t much for it. Fíli and Kíli give him a run for his money every day, n’ I think if they’re not careful he’ll cuff them about the ears. He’s no good with cars, but he does have a skill for learning how things tick real quick.”

 

Ned couldn’t tell if that was alluding to Thranduil’s ability to make Thorin angry, or a genuine compliment, but he settled on the former. Thorin would rather be caught with his pants ‘round his ankles lewd than complimenting Thranduil on anything. 

 

“Oh yes. He’s doing just swell, and he’s made fast friends with my dear nephew Frodo! I think you’d hardly recognize him some days all covered in grease. He might not be happy about working with those two, but he certainly does take to fixing things… fixing lots of things. Like the toaster, and the microwave, and the radio.”

 

“Aye,” Thorin said gravely and stroked a singed piece of his beard in rueful memory. Ned tried very hard to hold back the flicker of a pleased smile on his face as he played with the edge of the towel in his hand. 

 

“I’m glad to hear that. I am. I was worried about him for a little while there and I think that this was a good thing. You know how sometimes you can be really good friends with someone, but then you try to live together and a week later you kind of want to push them down a flight of stairs? I kind of think that’s what happened except I really hope that our thoughts were a little less… murdery. You know?”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo and Thorin answered in unison then exchanged a look between them that Ned assumed was somewhere between incredulous, annoyed, and amused. 

 

“When we moved in with each other it wasn’t all rose petals and romance all night. Don’t like to talk about it all that much, not proper really; but you know learning to share a bed with a wheezing, snoring, overhot dwarf isn’t a picnic, bless him-- and watch out for the gas, heavens. Now thinking on that, on our travels it was like that with a good thirteen of them!”

 

“And you think sharing a bed with a dwarf is no picnic, you try it with a hobbit who’s all elbows and talks in his sleep.”

 

“Hang on--” Ned looked at them strangely for a second. “You two’re-- you’re-- oh my god how did I miss that? You’re together? I thought you were just really good friends. That kind of makes sense though, and kind of explains a lot. But me and Thranduil, we’re not. We aren’t together like you two are together. We’re just… we just happened to be in the same place at the same time, and he was going through a lot, and I’m not into him like that.”

 

“Nobody said you were,” Thorin grumbled, entertained. “The harder you try’n convince yourself aloud like that lad, the more people are gonna give you another glance.”

 

“I have to get back to work,” Ned coughed awkwardly, sweeping up the used dishes into his arms. He strode into the kitchen with his head ducked and nearly ran into Cam on the way out, stopping just short of cracking his forehead into the taller’s chin. 

 

Cam looked down at Ned through sleep deprived eyes and a tight expression. 

 

“You look… um,” Ned side stepped Cam and set the dishes in the sink. “Are you okay? I mean it’s kind of clear that you’re not great or anything, but you’ve been missing work a lot and it’s starting to be a problem, you know? I don’t want to be that guy, but if you keep missing work then it gets really hard for me to run my business, and I don’t mean to chew you out, I’m kind of getting off the topic because I was supposed to be concerned. I am concerned.”

 

Cam didn’t say anything as he tied his own apron around his waist and grabbed the order pad off the counter to go out and check on customers. 

 

“Good talk,” Ned mumbled, shrugging his shoulders. He scowled after Digby as the dog trotted along after Cam to ‘help’ him with his job, leaving the Pie Maker to his own devices. 

 

“Traitor,” Ned griped to nobody. 

 

It didn’t take long for his questions to be answered; Ned turned on the television in the kitchen while he was working as a form of background noise, spreading flour out over the counter to start rolling out the dough for another Pie. He hardly paid attention to the first few stories. Some man who believed in aliens, reports of break ins on the south side. It was the last story that really caught Ned’s attention.

 

_ ‘In other news, locally owned, internationally renowned Jewelry company ‘Fëanor and Sons’ has gone bankrupt practically overnight. The esteemed CEO and Owner Curufinwë Fëanáro had his bank account hacked and his safe raided, and then picked clean by an unknown party. Investigations suggest that it was an inside job, and their former person of interest Maedhros, Son of Fëanáro was just released from prison early this morning cleared of all charges. More at six.’ _

 

_ ‘Thanks Tom, and now for the weather--’  _ Ned shut the TV off  and glanced toward the dining room. Well-- how was he supposed to know? It wasn’t as if Cam said more than three words about himself even if he was asked a direct question. Ned’s curiosity gnawed at him to go and ask Maedhros what happened, but it seemed like Maedhros was one step ahead of him. As he’d tried to get on with his work, his attention was caught by an envelope on the back counter with the rest of the mail, but this one had neatly written calligraphy, hand delivered by Maedhros himself.

 

_ ‘Dear Pie Maker, _

 

_ It has come to my attention that you and your associate Emerson Cod are the men to ask when one wants something done and done properly. Enclosed is a check for 30000 dollars incentive for both you and Emerson Cod should you choose to accept this request.  _

 

_ I will eagerly await your response.  _

 

_ -Fëanáro Curufinwë.’ _

 

Before Ned had a chance to gawk at the check in his hands, he texted his partner in crime to get to the Pie Hole. It seemed that Emerson had received a phone call earlier that day, as he’d had reporters inquiring on whether or not he would be working on the case after his stint in the hospital. There had been a leak suggesting that the unlikely team would be taking on a case much bigger than themselves. 

 

Emerson arrived at the Pie Hole looking just the same as he ever did. A little more well rested, and maybe a little thinner around the middle, but it was still the same man that Ned had come to trust and respect. Emerson Cod sat at the table across from Cam, Olive Snook at his right hand side. It looked perfect, and familiar, and like they were all on the cusp of an adventure of their own that Ned would miss out on if he didn’t hurry up. There was just something so familiar and comforting about sitting at that booth beside the Pie Hole entrance that Ned hadn’t realized he’d needed until the moment he sat down. 

 

“So, what’s the happs?” Olive asked with a mischievous glint as she leaned forward on the table, clearly excited that she’d been asked to join in on this investigation by Emerson Codd himself. 

 

“Lotta somethin’ connected that’s for sure,” Emerson told them gravely. “You hear a lotta things when you’re layin’ around in a hospital bed with your ears open. People talkin’, and I’m not likin’ what they’re sayin’. Murder, and shady underground, and lots of conspiracy theories that make the nuttiest of ‘em call ya crazy. But I’m thinkin’ it’s not all crazy. There’s something going on around here and this is just a peek into it all. Lotta people talkin’ about bodies turnin’ up and… magic,” Emerson’s gaze turned to Ned, who became uneasy as he shifted around in his seat. “Them bodies we were lookin’ at in that warehouse have a tie in all this. The guys that we talked to shared another name that I ain’t sure what it means. Muttering about a ‘dark lord’.”

 

“What, like Harry Potter?” Olive asked, confused. 

 

“No,” Maedhros answered flatly. “This isn’t some fantasy movie about wizards, and happy endings. This is serious. My father’s been worried about spies in his company for a long time now, and when those bodies turned up, he knew what he was dealing with. Who, I should say. I hoped it wasn’t true, but it’s been staring us in the face from the very start, nay, longer. 

 

“My father has been in the mind to try and reforge the Silmarils--”

 

“Those um-- those are the jewels that he lost a long time ago right?” Ned sat up straight and creased his brow. It felt like he could start vibrating any moment with how much nervous energy he was trying to contain. There was a good part of the history that Emerson and Olive wouldn’t be able to  understand without explaining things and outing Ned in the process. 

 

“Yes. They were the most well renowned jewels of his time, and not a single forged crown or coin would be likened to them. There was once a man who stole those jewels for himself. My father is not interested in the money he’s lost; there were files in his deposit boxes that have been taken as well. Those files have plans for something that is beyond comprehension. As unlikely as it may seem… the magic in this tale is no fake. Those plans were the blueprints of forging a soul. 

 

“To give rise to life from nothing. His attempt failed, and it went horribly awry. I had thought he’d destroyed those blueprints. The soul he tried to forge lacked something that no two mortal or immortal hands can give. You cannot make life from nothing, or it becomes empty-- it gives rise to a monster.”

 

Silence fell over the table. Ned could feel a chill down his spine remembering the monster in the warehouse. Was that what Maedhros was talking about? 

 

“Hang on just a minute. You mean to tell me that magic really, really exists and that we’re going to be working on a criminal case investigation chasing after something that’s made of magic, or someone who stole real life magic. That’s just ridiculous, see there’s got to be some sort of explanation right?” Olive wasn’t ready to believe something like that just yet. She was starting to think that this was some kind of joke. 

 

“Like Scooby Doo,” Ned blurted. “Yeah. There’s magic in science, and science in magic, that kind of thing. But right now we kind of have to have an open mind because you know… when you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, right?” 

 

Another tense silence came over the table. Nobody dared to speak just yet, each one of them unsure how much they could say without revealing too much of the truth. Ned felt like each one of them could have been holding a loaded and cocked gun to each other’s heads and it would have been an easier conversation than the one they were having right at that moment. 

 

“Whatever the cause, magic or not. Very delicate information was stolen, and it’s our job to go and get it. Itty Bitty you’re with me, and you, Pie Boy, you’ll be working with Pie Boy Lite here. Go talk to papa smurf and see what you can find out--”

 

“Actually, Emerson Cod, if you don’t mind it is you that my father is interested in speaking to first. The negotiation of terms. He would like to look you in the eye before this is all settled and you are allowed to get your hands messy in their affairs. If it were me in your position, I would tell him to-- pardon me-- go fuck himself. I know my family. I’m not innocent of their misdeeds. As tempting as this money might be, you would be better off not to get in the middle of whatever is going on between him and whoever took these blueprints from him. Whenever my father is involved in anything of great ambition or revenge, nothing but misery comes from it. If you decide you’re going to help him, there’s no way I’m going to help you. I’ve done enough in the name of my father’s oaths. I won’t be sullying my hands further.”

 

Maedhros bumped his shoulder against Ned’s who stood up and backed away, his  heart pounding in his chest. What Thranduil had said was true. A sinking feeling came over him, and he wanted to pull Emerson aside. He wanted to tell him to walk away from this one. Even superman would be over his head. 

 

“Dirty deal’s still a deal and I got hospital bills to pay,” Emerson grunted, standing up as he put on his hat. “And it ain’t dirty dealing if he ain’t hiring me with dirty money. Seems straight if you ask me. Let’s get on with it.”

 

“I’ll take Olive down to the bank to see what we can find out from them, I guess,” Ned shrugged and looked the letter over again before he wrote something on it in a quick scribble and handed it to Emerson with a smile. “Don’t get into too much trouble because I’d really hate to go back to the hospital to visit you again. That sounds bad but hospitals freak me out, and it’s freakier seeing you all… not great.”

 

“Yeah don’t give me those doe eyes.” Emerson tucked the note in his pocket after he glanced at Ned’s scrawled handwriting. 

 

_ ‘Don’t trust them. Don’t trust Cam. Something isn’t right.’ _

 

Ned looked around the Pie Hole to make sure that the customers he’d had had already gone before they left. Digby trotted along beside them and barked at Ned as he locked the door. 

 

“Looks like we have a team of three,” he smiled at Olive. 

 

“Oh I am so ready for this.”

 

\-----

 

Black and white. Dark ooze dripped down from the ceiling, and Thranduil couldn’t recognize just where he was. The feeling of the air being squeezed out of his lungs became an overwhelming sensation, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wake up. It was frightening. A thin layer of frothy slime covered his naked skin and all around him rose the smell of brimstone. Thranduil nearly gagged on the miasma in his dream as he cried out voicelessly for help. 

 

As far as he could see in any direction there was simply nothing. His fëa had become detached from his body-- was this a dream? Thranduil recognized this feeling. This was how he’d felt the very moment before Ned had woken him up. Had he died again? That couldn’t be. 

 

Thranduil reared his head to search his surroundings, taking it under his willpower to move one foot and then the next. He could remember things more clearly now; like he was seeing it right in front of him again for the second time, the black surroundings turned fleshy and squeezed down around him. His skin was burning. Thranduil could taste the melting of his own flesh as he desperately reached for something, anything to free him from this fate. 

 

It was then that his hand found the hilt of his blade and he drew it nigh, striking out to cleave the flesh in two, through scale and grit until saltwater washed around him making him gape and scream. The vibrations of a roar shook him, and his Fëa reached out for anything it could touch. It reached out in every direction for light to pull him out of this painful abyss that dragged him down, down, down. 

 

A moment later, something grasped back at him. With hands like a balm that soothed the pain inside of him and healed his wounds, Thranduil looked up wide eyed into a familiar face. At first, the blue eyes that looked back at  him resembled someone he’d not seen in an age, but his face took shape faster than Thranduil could speak her name. She stood not before him, but her son-- their son had pulled him out of the nightmare that had felled him. It seemed that Thranduil wasn’t wholly free of the dragon that had swallowed him whole and dragged him to their deaths. 

 

But that didn’t matter-- the dragon didn’t matter. Where the first time he’d gone through this, the hand that had reached for him had been Ned, this time it had been his Son to pull him from certain doom; but when Legolas opened his mouth to speak, there came no sound. 

 

Their surroundings faded from black and white into trees and leaves, boughs above their heads with twittering birds. The forest itself heaved a great heavy sigh of wind, wrapping around him to soothe the wounds of his soul. Wounds that were much deeper than the scars that had been healed of his passing from Eä into Earth. Legolas’ Fëa was so brilliant in comparison to his own.

 

His son looked golden to him; brighter then than Eärendil, and more noble than the Kings of old. Thranduil could not have been prouder of his little leaf if he tried. Though he reached out to his Son, they never touched. It felt instead like they moved around one another, just out of reach and unable to connect. Legolas was so close to him. Close enough to soothe, close enough to see, but not close enough to hold onto just yet. 

 

“Gi Melin, Ion nín--” But Legolas could not hear him either. Between them there was a barrier of static, and before Thranduil could say all that he felt he needed to, the world around them had begun to fade away. Whatever this was, dream or not, Thranduil was certain that his Son had come to his aid as he was floundering. No matter how far apart they may have seemed to one another, they were apart of each other still.

 

Thranduil felt his eyes well with tears when he glimpsed Legolas set his hand over his heart with his own sorrowful look. He brought his hand away from his chest and reached out to his father. They did not need to hear each other to understand what that meant, and Thranduil did not restrain his smile as he covered his own heart and reached back to the hand that faded away from him just before they could grasp one another. 

 

Thranduil woke very suddenly to the sound of a cat next to his head yowling loudly. The breeze rolled in from his open window, and Thranduil took a moment to catch his bearings. His skin felt tender, and inside of him he could feel something that stuck to his fëa like oil. That went forgotten when the cat yowled at him again. 

 

Thranduil offered his hand out to the creature and flinched when her cold nose came in contact with his tender skin. He flicked the switch on his bedside lamp to see that his porcelain hands were still as fine as ever. There were no marks or marrings. His reflection in the vanity at the end of the bed told him that whatever he was feeling must have been psychological, or a ghosting of whatever had just happened. Elves did not sleep much in the way that humans or dwarves did, but Thranduil could not shake the feeling of being tired, nor could he shake the glee he felt at being so close to Legolas.

 

It was enough to tell his Son that he was all right, he hoped. It was enough to express how much he missed his family. What he wouldn’t give to have simply been able to have held onto Legolas’ hand for just a moment. 

 

Again, the cat felt the need to express displeasure at him by howling. 

 

“I do not think that you’re in the right place, little one. While Bilbo Baggins surely is a kind host, I do think he prefers to know when his guests are coming over for a visit,” Thranduil told the cat quietly, stroking her striped head. She had piercing chartreuse eyes, outlined in cream. She looked intelligent. She was a small tortoiseshell cat with a collar that said “Penelope” on the tag. As Thranduil reached to read it and turn it over with his thumb, Penelope leaped away from him and landed on the windowsill. 

 

She turned to him again and yowled before jumping down into the garden. Thranduil furrowed his brow and leaned out the window to look after her. He grabbed his sweater off of the chair and wrapped it around his shoulders, and then grabbed his phone to use the flashlight. It took him just a moment to walk around to Bilbo’s garden and shine his flashlight into the plants. 

 

The light landed on Penelope’s two glowing eyes as she waited for him to approach. Each time Thranduil got close, she darted away from him and meowed loudly enough to keep his attention. It didn’t take him long to figure out that she was trying to lead him somewhere. Though, the further he got from New Bagend, the more uneasy he became. Her intelligence reminded him of Digby, and by extension, the Pie Maker, and that was what kept him following. She lead him through another person’s garden, jumping into another open window of a lavish home. 

 

Thranduil stood outside the looming house and felt a chill up his spine. The back door of the house was left swung open, and the darkness therein felt like it was calling him, with the breeze at his back pushing him toward it. The stature of grey brick loomed at him much in the way he imagined the gates of Mordor towered over those who’d approached them. 

 

He was hesitant to follow the cat inside, but as she appeared in the doorway to meow at him again, he tucked his reservations away. His phone flashlight lighting the path, the boards made an unnerving lack of noise under his careful steps. The air tasted musty and damp; it smelled like mildew and death inside of the home, and Thranduil could feel that spot on his fëa rear its ugly head. 

 

Penelope padded through the dark hallways to the back room. She rubbed up against the doorframe, her tail flickering as she gazed up at Thranduil expectantly. A red light crept out from the cracks around the door, giving the hallway a sickeningly long feeling. The hallway looked much shorter than it felt to traverse, and each step he took closer seemed counterproductive, like the hallway would stretch itself longer and longer to keep him away. His head swam and each sound that he made felt amplified. The house was so still that there wasn’t even a hum in the silence, only dead air. Still he set his uneasy hand on the doorknob as he arrived at it. The lock clicked from the other side, unlocking itself as if the house was welcoming him into the gruesome scene before him. 

 

Not even someone like him could have ever been prepared for what he saw on the other side. His head spun and his stomach jumped up into his throat with the urge to vomit on the floor. There were children flayed open in the room in front of him, and something grotesque hunched over the form of a girl no older than five. The air felt hot and hellish as it wafted into the hallway, and his ears near split open with the deafening sound of a music box playing somewhere far away.

 

Her rib cage had been split, and Thranduil looked on in horror to realize that she was still alive. Her eyes glossed over, her the skin around her mouth gooey with yellow pus and bile. The room smelled horrendous, and he would remember the slurping sound for the rest of his life as the creature sucked her organ out of the fissure in her abdomen. Thranduil felt his rage boil over, and in two long strides he had crossed the room to defend what life she had left. His foot connected to the side of the creature’s skull. 

 

It let go a gurgling screech and Thranduil recoiled from it as he felt the side of its head cave in with an audible squelch. Maggots poured down its face as it reared its sights on the former Elvenking. Thranduil did no more than bring his heel down again on its head, smashing its soft skull into the floor where it exploded in a mass of gore and parasites, smelling of rot and decay.

 

Thranduil’s attention returned to the girl on the ground, who still continued to breathe without her lungs.  The wound around her chest had sprouted what looked like long thin mushrooms, and her skin sagged in on itself as she crumpled and molded. Her skin was covered in sores and cankers; she was stuck to the floor as fungi had grown up to claim her right arm and left leg, feeding on her. She may have been alive, but she was not living. He realized all too quickly that it was the source of the mildew smell that he’d been able to pick up upon entering the house. No longer able to hold back his disgust, Thranduil threw up in the corner, his legs shaking in an effort to hold him upright. Something foul was at work here, and he did not have the right mind to stay and figure it out. 

 

He turned from the room and opened the door up to the hallway again only for the lights to go out. He was left with not but his phone and the stretch of hall in front of him. He walked as quickly as his unstable legs could carry him toward where he remembered the back door had been.

 

As he turned the corner, Thranduil found himself staring down the hallway again at the door where red light spilled out under the cracks. He paused in confusion and unease, then turned to head back in the opposite direction, but as he travelled he came again to face the same red lit door, the sound of slurping, and the growing volume of the music box, over and over and over. 

 

His breath came faster and faster until he felt again like he had in his dreams. It wasn’t until he felt someone grab his hand and nearly crush it in their grip that he blinked and suddenly found himself standing in the middle of Bilbo’s garden, dampened from the evening rain. 

 

He stared wide eyed into Thorin’s face, hyperventilating and paler than he should have been. Thorin’s grip was harsh and his face was firm and the perfect picture of annoyance. The force of his hand around Thranduil’s had produced enough pain to snap him out of whatever he’d been seeing. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t all been a dream. His boot still had the remnants of blood on the heel. His hands shook, and the cat meowed at him from the bushes again. 

 

Thorin said something that Thranduil couldn’t hear beyond the sound of the rain, but as Thorin repeated himself, he found that he’d started to come back to his senses. Thranduil pulled his hand quickly away from Thorins and picked up his phone from the mud. 

 

The time read 4:14 am-- that couldn’t have been right. It had only been 11 PM when he’d left. How had he been gone for so long? 

 

Four in the morning or not, he knew there was only one person he was going to be able to call about this. 

 

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” He asked Thorin as they made their way to the front of the house.

 

“Hardly. We’ve not slept a wink looking for you. You left in a sort of stupor, and you didn’t say anything on your way out. Bilbo followed you out back and you told him you’d be back in a minute. A minute went by and when you didn’ come back he went and called Ned. We’ve been looking for you all night,” Thorin grunted from under his umbrella.

 

“I don’t know what happened,” Thranduil admitted. “T’was like a stupor, you’re right, I did not even-- I thought I had not seen you on my way from the home. I have no recollection of speaking to you or Bilbo on my way out. I must speak to Ned. There is something sinister happening. That house-- the one through the back gate in the garden.”

 

Thorin looked up at Thranduil as if he were mad, his impatience with the elf rising ever higher.

 

“Y’mean the abandoned shack. Aye. It’s been empty for a good long while now. Bilbo’s been itching to get his hands on the deed to garden it.”

 

“Keep your hobbit away from that house, Thorin Oakenshield, there is dark sorcery there. I would not wish what happened to me to happen to him. Where is that damnable cat?” Thranduil muttered and looked around for Penelope. 

 

“Did the cat tell you about the sorcery? Or perhaps the birds and the deer? The trees maybe?” 

 

Thranduil’s lips pressed tight as he glowered down at Thorin. He was much happier to see Ned and Bilbo and the flashing lights of police cruisers. Ned’s heart pounded in his chest as he saw Thranduil round the corner with Thorin. He’d been at home mapping out his leads from the bank when Bilbo had called him in a panic about Thranduil. They’d been looking for him all night, and Ned was worried that what had happened to others had happened to him too. He’d come up on a lead that had suggested that most of the victims in their cases had been dosed with an unknown drug-- some hallucinated, some went through uninhibited rage, and others simply went into cardiac arrest. 

 

To say that he was relieved to see Thranduil was an understatement. Ned felt as though his chest might bust open and his hammering heart wouldn’t be pleased until he was as close to Thranduil as he could get without killing him. Evidently, it seemed Thranduil felt the same. There was something about Ned that was immensely comforting. The closer Thranduil stood, the quieter that ugly thing inside of him got. 

 

Together, the two of them stood in front of each other, almost touching, but not quite. Ned clutched his umbrella with a gloved hand, his other safely gloved hand reached out to pat Thranduil on the shoulder uncertainly. Thranduil reached up gratefully to take Ned’s hand in his own and squeeze it. He wanted to be as far away from this place as he could possibly be, and it seemed an unspoken agreement that Thranduil would be going home with Ned tonight. 

 

Thranduil felt as though he would like to have crawled out of his own skin right then, unnerved as Penelope rubbed up against his ankle and meowed up at him. 

 

“You made a friend,” Ned pointed out, offering a half smile. Thranduil did not trust that he’d made a friend, but she seemed to be a mutual witness. She must have belonged to the girl who was trapped in the endless torture of that awful house. Thranduil lifted the petite cat off of the wet pavement and held her warm body to his chest. The two of them smelled like that room, and the damp from the rain. That evening would be one he would wish to forever forget.

 

\-----

 

He’d done his best to answer the police’s questions, and it had agitated him to be on scene when they found the girl and pulled her out of the house, but he’d insisted on seeing it for himself. Ned would be going to the morgue later that day to talk to her, but she was just as Thranduil had seen her. It amazed him how Ned seemed completely unphased by the grotesque nature of her body, and the bodies of the other children who were pulled from the scene. There was something else pulled from the scene under sheets that Thranduil refused to look at twice.  

 

He’d seen his share of horror in war, he’d seen orcs devour children, and rape women, and commit more unspeakable acts. Thranduil had indeed been in the midst of terror, but there was something so debilitating about being stuck in a situation that rendered him so helpless to do anything but walk again and again into the same scene. Like a nightmare he could not wake from. It made no sense to him when he’d been told that he’d been hallucinating due to carbon monoxide poisoning. Ned wasn’t buying it either, especially when he’d been told the creature Thranduil killed that evening had been a rabid dog. 

 

“Emerson is doing some background on the family,” Ned broke the silence between them, peering up at Thranduil, who was still pale and shaken. “The paramedics say the parents have been dead for months. The kids have only been dead for about a week… they starved to death. It doesn’t make sense.”

 

“They couldn’t leave the house,” Thranduil told him immediately. “I almost did not make it out of there. If  it was not for Thorin, I believe I would still be trapped inside those walls. I can feel it. Something that resides within, it feels as though it still calls to me. It is empty, and it hungers,” Thranduil thought back to the rot that ate away at the roots of his trees in Eryn Lasgalen. This was much the same with the same disastrous results. He knew then just what had happened.

 

“Sauron is among us.”

 

“That’s what Maedhros-- Cam… that’s what he said. Him and this other big bad guy. Morsomething. I don’t really know what that means, but I know it’s bad and that it basically caused a huge war in your world so… how screwed do you think we are?” Ned looked at Thranduil, a semblance of fear in his eyes that Thranduil regretted. Not from his own coming to Earth, but of his world and their misfortune. The people in this world would suffer for the darkness that they had banished from their own. It was their fault that people like Ned would suffer on. 

 

It came upon him the hollowness of their victory in the war of the ring. They hadn’t defeated Sauron, they’d only given him the chance to take form somewhere else. 

 

“So long as there is something worth fighting for in this world Ned, there will be those who are willing to rise to meet the challenge.” Thranduil told him genuinely. For if they were to lose hope, then Sauron would have already won.  Ned didn’t seem so sure, but he trusted Thranduil in earnest, and Thranduil didn’t know just what he’d done to warrant that trust. 

 

Ned’s phone beeped and he hung his head rather comically, bringing a faint smile to Thranduil’s face.

 

“Is that your morning alarm?” He inquired in his curiosity. 

 

“No,” Ned scratched the back of his head and pulled his phone from his pocket to look at the text message on his screen. There was a text from Vása on his screen, asking him where he was. He was missing their breakfast date, and he  was missed. Ned didn’t have it in his heart to tell Thranduil that he’d started seeing Vása. It wasn’t something he was sure he was ready for, and it certainly wasn’t something Thranduil was going to be happy about. But Thranduil had been through so much that night-- he couldn’t just leave him there. Bilbo was out with Thorin, and he was pretty sure that Thranduil didn’t want to hang out with the twins. 

 

“Doesn’t matter really. Just something from Emerson, but it can wait. Something about a case that I can look through later. You know? We can just… go. We don’t really have to think about this right now do we? There’s not a lot we can do until the police are done with the bodies. Breakfast?”

 

Thranduil waved his hand to indicate his disinterest in the idea of food. Though he could do with something to fill his empty stomach, he did not want to risk the feeling of throwing up again as he remembered that same helpless feeling of being so trapped. 

 

“I would much rather spend my day out on the walking paths, if you don’t mind. I could do with a spell away from this city and the darkness therein. Would you be kind enough to join me? Or have you had enough of the weather?” Thranduil noticed that Ned’s coat was considerably damp, and he did remember that humans could catch a chill if they weren’t careful. 

 

“I’d like that.” Ned pushed his hands into his pockets shyly, swaying his shoulders. The further they walked from the house, the closer they walked together. They talked-- well, Ned talked. Thranduil found solace in Ned’s voice, his light, and his happiness. He watched the way that Ned spoke with his hands, admired the way he rambled passionately about food, and laughed at his own corny jokes. Their walk became more and more silent the longer they were under the trees so that Thranduil could collect his thoughts. The only thoughts Thranduil had were in admiration of Ned’s bravery when their hands bumped together, gloved against skin, and Ned did not pull away. Whether it was because it was habit, or because it was something he desired, or simply because he felt lonely even surrounded by people… Ned’s fingers twined with Thranduil’s.

 

And Thranduil did not dare let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So our main characters finally figure out that Sauron is doing things. It only took 8 chapters. And look -points- there's some fluff at the end for you. Because they needed some.


	9. Very Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god so I'm really sorry there isn't much Ned/Thranduil in this. I needed to get some plot stuff out of the way. Next chapter will be more focused on Thranduil and Ned and aspects of their relationship that will induce 'awwwww'.
> 
> Gwaihir - http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Gwaihir  
> Olórin- http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Gandalf  
> Mandos- http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Mandos
> 
> The three Eagles I introduced are my own brain babies. I thought it would be fun to add some eagles. Because reasons. And I needed more female characters so introducing Telumendil!

Legolas opened his eyes to the smell of embers dying into coals. The campfire they’d lit in the evening was fading away with the stillness of the morning air. There was no breeze to breathe the coals back into angry orange stones. Gimli snored heavily not far from him; he would never be used to sleeping in the way that Gimli did. Eyes closed, dreaming and snoring, it was not natural for an elf. 

 

That mattered very little though. As he rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes, he remembered his dream and found himself filled to the brim with warmth and comfort. Perhaps dreaming of his Adar was not as good as seeing him in person, but it did more to soothe the ache in him than the comforting words of his friends or Kings. It felt so real that Legolas had a hard time allowing it to settle in his mind as a dream. He would surely know more when he spoke to Manwë of it, he was very sure. 

 

He knew in the back of his mind what their quest entailed. Though he wasn’t entirely sure how they were going to accomplish it, he knew that they needed to go from one world to the next. He had shared this thought with Gimli and Nerdanel again last night by the fire, and the two had been skeptical, but it came as an idea too to speak to Mandos at the entrance of his hall.

 

Legolas stood from his spot in the grass and stretched his arms long above his head, his sharp eyes searching for the third member of their Gathering. Nerdanel was not far away, keeping watch on the horizon to the east where the sun had slipped above the peaks of the Pelóri. It cast rays of orange and pink up into the enormous clouds that drifted up like anvils in the sky. 

 

“Another storm?” Legolas approached Nerdanel to stand at her side, uneasy. 

 

“Yes. It is the peak of summer, the heat rises off of the land to meet the cool of the ocean, and so we see a good many storms out off the coasts. It looks not ominous but of the nature of the world, Legolas,” Nerdanel soothed, her freckled face full of light heart. “I do think that we are rid of the rain until at least midday or later if the wind keeps down like this. We should have fair travels. But… I must say…” Nerdanel frowned and looked at Legolas as if she were seeing through him rather than gazing upon him. “I’ve not ever seen an elf sleep or dream in the way that you do.”

 

“It’s strange isn’t it? Before the storm that took my father’s ship from the sea, I had another nightmare and slept overlong. It feels… well as though I am plagued with fatigue. I don’t know how to describe to you just what happened those nights. There are times where I feel the need to close my eyes and reach my hand back to whatever calls me to sleep. It feels like I’ve fallen under some spell, and through this I felt as though the bond with my father strengthened until he died. Now… I’m not even sure if he is dead.” Sorrow held his tongue and choked his breath. “There is nothing left for me here, and still I am called to sleep.”

 

“Our fëa does strange things in grief and in the face of danger. The life force inside of you is lit from an imperishable flame. Not but the likes of Ilúvatar know the purpose and exact will of the flame. Is that not why we travel this path? Wake your friend. We should carry on before the wind decides to change.”

 

Legolas replied with a slim smile only then bound across the grass to lean down over Gimli. The dwarf lay back with a hand on his rounded stomach, mouth agape with a boisterous snuffle sawing out of him. 

 

_ ‘I do hope that isn’t what I sound like during my slumber,’  _ Legolas mused, then bent to put the palm of his hand flat atop Gimli’s. 

 

“Wake up my friend, we must carry on.” 

 

Gimli woke with as much grace as he slept with. A loud bumbling buzz-snort and a curse at the brightness of the day. He brushed himself free of the grass and wandered away to take a ‘morning piss’ and freshen up. Legolas didn’t fancy carrying on with him, so he took to packing away what little they had with them. Legolas lifted his bow and slung his quiver of arrows over his shoulder as he scanned the land around them to see if he could hunt a spot of breakfast. 

 

No luck. The silence of the wind was well accompanied with the stillness of the fauna. He could not help but feel as though the storm on the horizon had scared away the wild life. Not a single bird dared to chirp, and not a single hare sprung forth of its warren. The only living things near to him were his two companions. 

 

Gimli came back to them moments later on a tangent about the  chill of the nearby river, and how it reminded him just how much he did not fair on boats or anything of the like. Legolas could only give a half hearted eye roll as they picked up their things to carry on on the path. Taniquetil towered closer and closer to them the quicker they walked. It was only a few hours before they stood too close in its shadow.

 

A flock of small sparrows zipped passed them in a cacophonous chatter as they neared the foot of the mountain. Nerdanel turned her head swiftly to follow them with her gaze, a toll of thunder echoing on the faraway shores. She ushered Legolas and Gimli onward to the steps that lead into the caverns of the mountain so they could speak with Manwë. 

 

Varda was there to greet them, and she looked more beautiful to Gimli and Legolas than either of them could have remembered. She looked to them as though she gleamed with the light of the stars, upon her brow a crown ablaze with white gems. She was a powerful and welcome sight to them after their travels, and a dear comfort looking like a guide with her back to the storm. 

 

“Welcome back young Greenleaf, Master Dwarf, and Lady Nerdanel,” she greeted them, sweeping her hand to gesture inward to the vast hall and spiraling stairs that lead upward to the peak of the mountains. Below there were landing posts of ivory and marble, and around them were feathers that scattered the ground. In the side of the mountain there were great archways that looked as though they’d taken an age to carve by hand, fashioned in the likeness of the two trees that had long since died away.

 

Three great eagles descended from the kingdom above their heads. At first they looked not but like specks against the dark grey sky. The closer they came, the more brilliant they were in the eyes of their guests. Their nests and roosts were up in the crags of the mountain, hidden away from the weather and wind, but close enough to hear the call of their King. A young female with streaks of white in her face landed close to Gimli, towering him in size. She had broad and powerful wings that felt like they commanded the hurricanes. Her name was Telumendil, and she was the swiftest of her and her two brothers Celeghir and Bellhûn. Celeghir had the sharpest eyes, and Bellhûn was notoriously the most fearless with a scarred beak and a mean face. 

 

“They have been eager to meet the Gathering intent on crossing barriers of worlds. The three of them are determined to equal the accomplishments of their father, whom you’ve made acquaintance with. He still resides far in the east with his kin, but these three have come to you by the call of the sea.” Varda introduced them one by one with the pride of a mother, and the grace of a queen. The three birds bowed their heads to greet their newest companions.

 

“It would be an honor to join with you on this journey. I feel in my gizzard that this was what we were meant for.” Celeghir croaked as he stepped closer to Legolas, looking the young elf in the eye. The wind buffeted the party through the archway, kicking up feathers and dust as it picked up in a hoarse howl through the mountains. “For now we must waste no more time. Long has it been since we’ve received word from Mithrandir, and longer since since shadow has reared its head. It has been too quiet.” 

 

Legolas knew just what Celeghir meant; he wondered if they had had any trouble with the lack of wildlife on the plains, or if the mountains provided for them. Either way, they would know more of this land than any one of the Gathering alone. Save perhaps Nerdanel.

 

“They do not give the nickname ‘eagle eyed’ to men without reason. It would be swifter to search for your friend with a bird’s eye view,” Bellhûn crowed bitterly, as if he were insulted by the very fact that men rewarded themselves with such a title. 

 

“Then we thank you for your help, and more will we be in your debt. It was your father Gwaihir who rescued our friends from the shadowy clutches of Mordor. His noble blood runs in your veins, and as such we are honored to have you as friends; we must first speak to Manwë. Our journey has been given leave but I am still troubled. There are matters that he might be wiser of than us.”

 

“Such as?” Varda folded her hands neatly and shifted her head to peer at them suspiciously. “His friends are all he has to lend to you now. Your ambition is a flame dear young edhel, and as such you must be careful with it. We are friends to the Teleri, but your journey must be your own. We will not hinder you from leaving the land for you are no prisoner, but even the King knows very little of Ilúvatar’s intention beyond our own realms. Let the stars guide you back to us, and should you call for aid look to the sky; your winged friends are more plentiful than the valar in all their power.”

 

An air of helplessness rose up in Legolas’ chest and his breath caught in his throat. This was not the same sense of duty from a King that he was ever used to. Thranduil had always been one to be approached with matters of their land… but then, he too had only been concerned with the matters of his own land and borders. It seemed that in their history, elves had a great fault of caring for only their own affairs. 

 

“So you will sit idle,” it was Nerdanel that voiced Legolas’ thought, but Gimli stayed silent and contemplative.

 

“Not idle. Your journey fairs on beyond where our power is warranted. This land still needs a King, and its Queen. Manwë entrusted this quest to you and who you chose to join you in it. You’ve chosen fair companions, and too many bodies at the same task only bring to it inefficient result.”

 

“She’s right,” Gimli agreed. “A dwarf and a good hammer can build a home and a hall, but too many and ya just have a mess of stubborn and bullheaded builders all trying to hammer out the same rocks.”

 

Legolas bit his tongue but nodded silently. He still had an awful feeling about his dream, but it seemed that there would be no more answers from Manwë. He clutched the edge of his bow and remembered when he had been on the shores of the Anduin outside of Lothlórien. There had been much doubt then too, and so soon after they’d lost their wizard in the depths of Khazad-Dûm, There were questions piled on questions, and none had been answered then either but with the passage of time. The longer they lingered at the foot of the mountain, the longer it would be until those answers would come. 

 

“Thank you,” Legolas placed his hand over his heart and felt a pang, like a flash of muscle memory where he’d reached out and felt the cold of someone he could not touch. 

 

Varda bowed her head and touched over her own heart, and when she opened her eyes, she looked on at the six companions and gave her silent leave of them, turning her face up toward the stairs. 

 

“And fair Queen… what if we asked you of your help?” Nerdanel asked her softly. Varda froze on the steps and turned to smile her appreciation at the intelligent smith and her fiery chartreuse eyes. 

 

“I would tell you to on my behalf be brave, be the star that leads these weary travellers home, and when you return from where your journey may take you, my light will shine back to yours. I cannot be with you, but I will guide you back to where you belong. Like Eärendil, like all of the other stars, simply look up and know you are not alone. The birds, the clouds, the stars, the running stream, the trees-- the power of the valar is with you. Always. You simply must remember where to look.”

 

Nerdanel lost the flame in her eye, looking far away for a moment. It seemed then that there was a silent agreement between the two that Gimli and Legolas could not yet understand. The eagles did not say whether or not they had caught on, and an eerie hush fell over them as Varda ascended back to the Kingdom above them. 

 

“Well? What are we waiting for then? I’ve ridden a horse but I’ve not been on the back of any eagle.”

 

“And do you think you can handle it?” Legolas smirked as he glanced between Gimli and the towering Telumendil. 

 

“Aye. Better than any elf.”

 

\-----

 

“A social worker went missing,” Ned blurted. Thranduil lifted his head from his palm to look the Pie Maker in the eye, perplexed. “She went missing a few weeks ago. You know. Before those children were said to have died. There’s this weird police report that says that CPS went to the house after the kids were spacing out and wandering off in class. And one of the little girls had been to the nurse’s office a couple of days before that because she said her stomach hurt, and that was all she would say, but her parents wouldn’t come get her so… so she walked home. And one day the kids never came back to school, and the CPS worker never went back to work…”

 

“I do not understand what a CPS worker or a social worker is, Ned. Please explain further.” 

 

Ned had been working on the case since the incident. Two solid days of working either with Fëanor or on the hell house. Thranduil didn’t know about Fëanor, and Fëanor didn’t know about Thranduil. All in all, Ned had been quite proud of himself for his ability to multitask, even if it meant he hadn’t been able to answer Vása during those two days. Or that he hadn’t found a single lead while working with Olive looking for any trace of what happened to Fëanor. It would be okay right? 

 

“Child Protective Services. They’re the people you call when you think a kid might be being neglected or abused, and it’s not like they always do their jobs,” he muttered bitterly, “but one of their workers went into that house and never left apparently. The cops are going back today to look for the body and I thought that maybe you’d like to come to the morgue with me to maybe… talk to the kids. I mean I usually go with Emerson, but we have a deal with the coroner so I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Right? And… And I kind of thought you’d be able to rest easier knowing what happened maybe?”

 

“I have a good idea of what happened, Ned. As much as I am flattered to be included on this, I do not think I have much interest in watching you defy the laws of nature for the answers.” Thranduil could feel his stomach beginning to turn again. Thranduil tried very hard not to acknowledge the crestfallen look on the Pie Maker’s face that was something akin to a kicked puppy. His attention was drawn to Ned’s cell phone as it rang again. “You should answer that, Pie Maker. It has been ringing all day, and you have been ignoring people on my behalf. I promise you I will be just fine. I have recovered from worse things in the past.” Not entirely true, but not entirely false either.

 

After a moment’s pause, Ned nodded and picked up his phone, trapping it between his shoulder and his ear. 

 

“Hello?”

 

“Finally!” Vása huffed into the receiver. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for two days straight Ned! What the hell happened to you?! You just dropped off the face of the earth-- I go to your apartment and you and Digby aren’t even home! I was worried sick about you!”

 

“Ah-- yeah we’re next door in Olive’s apartment. Ah… a friend of mine… got-- well there was trouble and it’s taken care of. That’s all. Details don’t really matter so I’m told so… I’m really sorry.”

 

“You could have called me!”

 

“I know-- I know. Two seconds out of my day and I could have called you and I’m really not usually the kind of person who blows somebody off. But this was important and that’s not an excuse.”

 

“No. It really isn’t after everything I’ve done for you Ned,” Vása hissed back. Ned hunched his shoulders and paced into the next room so that Thranduil wouldn’t have to listen to the two of them argue over the phone. “I can’t believe you’d just use me like that and then just ditch me.”

 

“I-I didn’t  _ use  _ you--”

 

“I  _ feel  _ used.”

 

“I know. I’m really sorry. Let me make it up to you? I have to go to the morgue today but um… my evening is pretty free. We can go and do something nice together right? We can maybe… go have dinner? I know a really good place.”

 

There was a pause on the line and Ned could feel his anxiety begin to edge up his spine and squeeze his lungs in a vice.

 

“No dinner. It’s whatever,” Vása mumbled. “Just… don’t do that to me again. You know Anna doesn’t like you already, but you keep this up and she’s going to have your balls in a jar by the end of the week or something. She’s my best friend and she isn’t happy with you about this you know. I’m really not either. This was bullshit, and you’re lucky that I’m forgiving you for this. You can do better.”

 

Ned choked quietly on his breath, his mouth falling open for lack of anything to say in response. 

 

“I’m kidding, I didn’t tell Anna anything,” the tone on the other end lightened up and the Pie Maker had to sit down from the headrush and relief. “Dinner sounds great… Look just call me next time. Not that hard.”

 

“Okay. Yeah. Got it--” Before he could say more, Vása hung up and Ned was left with nothing but dead air on the other end. There was a dark sort of humor in Vása that Ned had loved, but this was nothing like the humor that he’d encountered before. Inappropriate joke? Or was he really still mad? Swimming in mixed signals, Ned let the subject drop and grabbed his coat. 

 

“That did not sound like a very pleasant call. I’m sorry to hear you and your… girlfriend?”

 

Ned shook his head.

 

“Boyfriend. I am sorry you two are having trouble. I’ve been a fair share of fights with my wife--”

 

“You’re married?” Ned heard his own voice and flinched. “Not… that you aren’t a delight. I just… didn’t know you were married but I guess that would make a lot of sense considering that you have a kid and-- I guess you could have been a single father but I really don’t know what I was expecting. Married. Wow. You think you know someone, right?” He felt his forehead break out in a faint sweat, and suddenly the morgue felt like the best place in the whole world to spend the afternoon. The dead were so much easier to deal with than the people who were still alive and full of secrets-- even if those secrets weren’t intentionally secrets. “Congrats on the wife.”

 

“She was a wonderful woman, but is deceased,” Thranduil narrowed his eyes marginally at Ned. 

 

“Good!” Ned blurted, and then realized what he said as Thranduil parted his lips in offense. “No- not good that she’s dead. Good that she was wonderful and nice and I’m really sorry but my words aren’t coming out right today at all, so I’m going to go before I dig myself a grave and I need to go to the morgue because I’m the one in the body bag--”

 

“Breathe Pie Maker,” Thranduil sighed at him. He allowed himself to relax and wipe away the affronted expression after he’d understood the stumble. Thranduil scratched his pencil over the drawing pad again, sure to sketch in Ned’s worry lines. Ned took in a deep breath and sat down at the table across from Thranduil, planting his face into his hands. 

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I didn’t want to get into dating because I wasn’t ready, I knew I wasn’t.” Whether or not what Vása had said was a joke or not, it still hurt. “Chuck hasn’t even been gone that long and it still feels like she’s here. I feel like such a huge… idiot. Like I’m cheating even though she’s gone.”

 

Thranduil set his pencil aside to give Ned his full attention. 

 

“When my wife died, my son was very young. He was a mere 20 years old, and I had to explain to him that his mother would not be returning,” his voice was soft and full of understanding, even with the small waver that Ned wasn’t sure whether or not he’d detected. “The simple fact is that it is going to hurt for the rest of your life. When you care about someone so deeply, they become part of you. Even if you become estranged, their life will leave an imprint upon you that will never go away. 

 

“It is up to you to decide whether or not you want to take what that person gave you and move forward with it, or cling to that part of them so hard that they become a ghost to you. You will see them everywhere you go, in everything you do, and in the end you will curl up in your bed and it will hurt so hard that you will not be able to breathe. Grieving… goes on for as long as you live. You may find that it hurts less and less with time… but… you are stuck only with memories that you can look back on without the luxury of touch or response. 

 

“Ned, if you still find it hard to breathe when you think about your girlfriend and her death, it means you are alive. Whether or not you are ready to move on and give your heart to somebody else is your decision… but you will not be the only person you hurt if you aren’t ready and you continue to string that boy along. Think… really think about it… and if it is too soon, then I think that you should let him go.”

 

Ned peeked through the cracks between his fingers to look at Thranduil who could only offer him a weak smile.

 

“Besides… you very clearly know I think you can do better than Vása,” Thranduil smiled faintly. “But if it is your wish to carry on with him, I will… support you to the best of my ability. If I can accept my son is Gimli’s friend, I can accept that my friend might like a few Noldorin elves and… their company.”

 

“Really? And you’re not gonna punch me or anything?  That would be like the definition of falling on your own sword, and kind of-- over a fit-- that doesn’t seem worth it.”

 

“ No, I will not hit you Ned, but if Vása turns out to be a snake ‘neath a flower, it will be him that will suffer my hissy fit,” Thranduil responded and gathered his drawing supplies to put away. “And if he should stand you up for dinner tonight, I am making pancakes. You are welcome to join me.”

 

Ned flicked his gaze up with a grin, and paused before he stood up and pulled his coat on. 

 

“You’ll take care of Digby tonight?”

 

“It would be my pleasure to entertain your friend this evening. Go, Ned. And if you come to dinner, I really do  _ not  _ want to know the details of that corpse. There are some things I would very much like to just forget. I do not know how you face these things. You are very brave, Pie Maker.”

 

“I’ve never been that brave, but I’ve always tried my best to just… not be crippled by fear.” Ned shuffled his feet and opened the front door. “I’m not brave. Really. I’m mostly racked with anxiety and sometimes I just want to throw up and I panic but… that doesn’t stop me from doing the things that scare me. That’s all.” 

 

Without another word, Ned closed the door behind him, and Thranduil was left watching the empty air as Ned’s words sunk in. Self proclaimed coward or not, Thranduil would always think of Ned as brave. 

 

\-----

 

“Olórin,” Mandos descended the marble steps before the large gates that lead inward to the shadowy hall. “My, hasn’t it been an age since you and I have seen each other. And to what do I owe the honor? I have heard from anyone who has hear or tell of you that they  _ have  _ no hear or tell of you. Shirking your responsibility? Do tell, have you found a smoking weed as good as that which you brought forth with you from the shire?”

 

“Oh you know the saying,” an old man approached up the steps, his long white beard swaying with each step, his blue eyes illuminated with humor. “A wizard is never late--”

 

“And never early. He arrives precisely when he means to,” Mandos finished with an unreadable expression. He towered over Olórin at a substantial height, his dark hair and translucent skin made him seem like a spectre in the night speaking to a cloaked and grey old creature that was ready to pass on. “And what do wizards say about the tardiness of elves and dwarves?”

 

“Oh, they’ll come,” Olórin guffawed as he sat himself on the edge of the steps. He pulled out a long and old pipe, pushing in a bit of pipeweed and using a touch of magic to spark it. “I know when I am needed, and I know when I’m not, and I know precisely that I’ve done the task appointed to me,” he griped as he puffed out a smoke ring. 

 

Mandos sat at his side and pulled his own pipe of white wood, patient as Gandalf stuffed a morsel of pipe weed into it and lit it for him. Together they sat in silence as the storm rolled away from them and disappeared out over the ocean.

 

“He is waiting…” Mandos warned.

 

“He is patient.” 

 

The bite of the wind blew away their smoke before their rings could make it anywhere impressive, or before the curls and plumes could take shape into anything fancifull. Together the two sat as if they were old friends and said nothing. Olórin had passed once through the hall and come out again a changed man, and changed now he sat again. He was no longer the keeper of Middle Earth, an Istari. His job was long finished and he was due the peace he’d been promised. 

 

As much as Olórin silently displayed displeasure, Mandos could see through him and know that there was nothing he would rather be doing. Adventure was at his doorstep as rudely as he’d been at the very door of Bagend some time ago. It seemed a cruel and amazing irony of course, but welcome nonetheless.

 

Before long they could see figures on the horizon upon the backs of eagles, and the surly look that had set into the old features of Olórin’s face lightened away as if they were never there, and he laughed. Olórin melted away to give way to Gandalf the White, only happy to see the friends he’d left behind a long time ago. 

 

“You see? They are as dependable as they’ve always been. They weren’t chosen for their task lightly.”

 

“I’m well aware. And what will you say when they find out what their task will entail? How will you tell them that there is a possibility that none of them will ever return?”

 

“I will not. They’ve faced much worse with much more integrity.”

 

“Bless my Beard!” A low accented laugh billowed down from the back of an eagle as Gimli uprooted himself and slid down from his seat. “A sight I thought I would not see again with my own eyes! Gandalf!” Gimli hobbled over with a quick grin and a mumbled ‘at your service’ somewhere between his questions and the answers he gave himself. Legolas slid more easily from the back of Celeghir and approached with wide eyes of wonder.

 

Gandalf leaned on his staff and watched them with a knowing smile. 

 

“The Gathering Clan,” he welcomed as he opened his arms and seemed to chew on one of his thoughts. There was a subtle note of gloating pride he felt as he remembered the days before Legolas and Gimli had been friends. Before the Fellowship. Before the Company. How all of this had been possible because of one very brave Hobbit.

 

“I’ve heard so many stories, but I fear we’ve never met face to face,” Nerdanel walked up the steps to look Gandalf in the eye and be sure that he was real. It seemed like so much of their efforts had gone into finding someone who slipped away more easily than smoke. And there he was. Suddenly standing there like a brilliant leader. 

 

“Yes-- oh yes,” Gandalf nodded his head and arched a brow under the rim of his wide grey hat. “I see that you are just who you say you are and they’re lucky to have you.” But he said no more than that, and only a private expression was passed between the two of them. 

 

“Well… shall we venture  inward then?” Mandos turned to the great doors that lead inward to the fabled hall, and simultaneously every member of the Gathering’s blood ran cold. 

 

“You mean… we must really pass on from this world to continue our task?” Legolas confirmed. They had discussed this possibility after they’d left the mountainside some time ago, and a couple times before that. It had been a long journey to come as far as they had, and it seemed only now just how real their quest was now stretched out before them. 

 

“To follow the dead you must walk through their land,” Mandos told them and stepped out of the way as the doors swung inward. The gaping chasm swallowed up the light of day, and within the depths called to the travellers upon the doorstep. “Your search has come to an end, to continue on you must find the void… and cross through it to the other side. You must not lose yourselves… You will be following a path so burned and destructed that you might not find the other side… but I can see it in you. There is a longing for somewhere beyond the shores of Aman, and this is the path I’ve been shown for you. I’ve been waiting for the Gathering to come to my step for a very long time now. 

 

“It is up to you now whether or not you enter, or whether you turn back… And once you enter, your guide will be there waiting for you. ”

 

“How can you be so sure?” Legolas asked dubiously. “We aren’t even sure where we are supposed to be going. There is still the matter of--”

 

“You will not find your father at sea Legolas. You will only find yourself off course. The eagles have brought you to the stoop of your doom. You must now face it…”

 

Legolas glanced long into the swallowing hall and felt something inside of himself call out into the void. It seemed to call back to him, and Legolas could imagine the hand from his dream desperately reaching out to him trying hold on. This was where he was meant to go. It was the same inky blackness, the same swallowing void, but this time he would not be alone. He would have Gimli and Nerdanel at his side. Gimli, Nerdanel, Gandalf, the Eagles, and a Guide.

 

His hesitance was met with impatience from Nerdanel who was the first to grab her things and stride headlong into the black. Gimli and Legolas looked back at the eagles whose feathers seemed to ruffle as they exchanged a look, then confirmed with silent nods that they too would follow. 

 

“Well lad, I said I’d follow you to the ends of the land and back and I’m not about to back down now.” Gimli prompted. Legolas hesitated only a second more before he lead the way after Nerdanel. The eagles ducked their heads through the gate at the same time that Gandalf stepped through, followed shortly after by Gimli. None of them knew the instinct that drove them onward through the gate, but it seemed stronger than the song of life that carried on the waves of the sea. For reasons that none of them would fully understand, they were gathered to find the lost, and the lost were long beyond the halls of the dead. 

 

“For Thranduil,” Gandalf nodded, and Legolas could not help the broken expression that crossed his face.

 

“For Adar.”

 

“For the lost,” a sudden voice came to greet them as a shining brightness cut through the dark. Before them he stood, the same noble grey eyes and the crown upon his head  like a star in the night. He stood like a portrait, young again, with no scars or lines of worry. There was only mirth and love in his eyes for his friends, for he had come to guide them. Gimli and Legolas stood in their shock like statues, their hearts soaring in recognition of their dearest old friend. Aragorn stood there to show them the way through the hall to the very void that would take them from one world to the next.  “You did not think I would let you go alone did you?” 


	10. Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Augh I'm so sorry that this update took so long. I was in saskatchewan for a while taking care of my grandmother. She fell and she broke her femur. She's doing much better now, and I will return to updating once a week! I was thinking about doing two little time stamps with some Bilbo/Thorin and Melkor/Mairon to make up for my missed updates. Opinions?

“Do you like him…?” 

 

Ned reeled; the question pelted off of him like some sort of weapon, Vása’s tone dripping with venom. Vása was pissed, and in Ned’s mind, he had a right to be, More often than not, the Pie Maker was working on a case, out with Emerson, or making excuses to go and see Thranduil instead of showing up for the dates he’d promised he’d be on with Vása. The trouble with having an avoidant personality meant that when it came down to confronting problems directly between he and Vása, Ned would much rather find something ‘more important’ to do. He would rationalize that he needed to find who was behind the growing body counts in Papen County. 

 

Of course, this duty was not solely his own, and it was a simple diversion to the truth. Ned had jumped too soon into a relationship with someone that he barely knew, and now he regretted it. 

 

He swallowed back the obvious answer. What wasn’t to like about Thranduil? But that wasn’t what Vása meant, and Ned knew it. 

 

“Oh my god, you do-- you like him. Are you fucking serious Ned? You’ve been ditching out on me to go mooning after Thranduil of all people? Didn’t he get bitchy after you tried to even be a little bit helpful? You seriously want to chase after him?”

 

“No, not really--”

 

“I’m not finished. Do not interrupt me, Ned Baker.”

 

Ned’s jaw clicked shut as the blond elf stepped up closer to him and glared at him with such intensity that Ned’s blood ran cold. Vása was truly terrifying when he tried to be, and Ned did not understand the tremendous amount of dread that fell over him like a torrent of rain. He sucked in a slow breath and nodded his head rapidly in indication that he was listening, his hands crammed under his arms.

 

“I have done everything for you. I’ve done my due best to get your friend assistance, and I have kept your name under the table. There are people who would love to know which human is going around babbling about our existence. Others from this world are beginning to suspect something, and I don’t know whether or not that has anything to do with you or not, but I spend a good amount of time making sure that your name never comes to attention.

 

“Ned, I got Thranduil that spot in our program, I held it as long as I could. I was the one who was there for you when he was being a jerk. I was the one who made you smile again. The way you’re treating me suggests that you are incredibly ungrateful.” The more Vása spoke, the more Ned wanted to shrink into himself with guilt and shame. His breath froze in his chest, stalled by the splash of anxiety induced acid reflux. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Ned attempted. His voice was small and sounded very far away in his own head. 

 

“And honestly Ned? Thranduil was a King. Was. But that still means he is used to other royalty. You think that someone like him would ever return the feelings of someone like you honey? I don’t mean to be harsh, but… it would be kind of a hopeless venture you know? I just don’t want you to get your heart broken when I’m right here. I’ve been right here since the day we met. Your best friend is alive because of me. You honestly think that Thranduil would have had the power to do that? That he would have given you the time of day if he knew you had a crush on him? Well?”

 

Ned scowled down at his feet, knitting his brows. 

“Well… No not really. I mean-- I don’t know. About the power thing anyway. I don’t know what kind of power he has, and I don’t know how strong he is or anything, but he did have to have some kind of power to have been a King, right? Or-- I don’t know,” Ned fumbled over his words, but when he glanced up, it became clear very quickly that this was not the answer that his boyfriend was looking for. How he wished the floor would just open him up and swallow him whole, and he could sink into the earth far away from this conversation. 

 

“Ned, you better figure this out. He goes, or I do. I hate being that kind of person, but I can’t be around you if you’re constantly going to moon over him. Not after everything I’ve done. I like you for who you are… Thranduil only likes you because you give him things. Think about why he keeps coming back. He’s only around when he needs something from you.” 

 

Vása whisked around Ned, bumping their shoulders together. He grabbed his coat off of his chair, then turned to look at Ned with teary eyes. There was no way Ned could have felt any more like an asshole. He had meant to say something, though his words wouldn’t form passed a stutter. Vása shook his head angrily, and Ned was sure he heard a choked ‘don’t bother’. He hadn’t had any time to get a word in edgewise before the storm that was his boyfriend left, slamming the door. Ned let go a sigh of both relief and reluctance. 

 

Vása had made a few very good points, but Thranduil wasn’t the kind of person who would just use him… right? The more Ned thought about it, the more he realized that Vása might be right. He bit his lip, then shook his head. No.

 

Thranduil wasn’t using him. He’d constantly turned down Ned’s assistance. Vása had to have been just speaking out of anger. He’d contradicted himself too many times-- of course he’d wanted to hurt Ned. That’s often how people feel when they’ve been neglected, pushed away. It wasn’t an excuse. They needed to sit down and have a real talk. But Vása had asked a very good question. Did he like Thranduil like that? They had only held hands a couple of times…

 

As innocent as holding hands could be, Ned knew that he himself had gotten very upset over the very same sort of thing. He couldn’t hold that against Vása or he would be a hypocrite. The ultimate decision was that he would give Vása time. Maybe some flowers and chocolate would be a good idea. Being yelled at certainly wasn’t any fun, and Vása was right-- why would a King take any sort of interest in him…? 

 

He wondered just how well Vása was going to take it when Ned told him that he sure as hell wasn’t going to isolate himself from his friends for his boyfriend. He concluded that that definitely was not the kind of person that he wanted to be. And he did not want to be with someone who forced that on him. If it came down to it, Ned made a decision. He would choose Thranduil.

 

\-----

 

“Don’t you dare. Nuh uh. Swear to god if you get involved with another dead girl--”

 

“I’m not getting involved with him, and calling him a girl is really disrespectful. Not because women are inferior or anything but misgendering someone-- and calling him dead dead. Alive again. We talked about this. He’s an elf, and he’s alive again. I don’t want to get involved with him like that, but I like him being my friend and we just started to actually be friends. I actually think you’d like him if you spent more time with him. He’s really smart and kind of quiet and he doesn’t have any interest in coming to the morgue with us,” Ned pointed out. Thranduil was nothing like Chuck; Emerson had always made his dislike of Chuck rather clear. 

 

Whether he didn’t like Chuck because she was alive again, or because she was constantly disregarding everything Emerson told them, Ned couldn’t really decide. It didn’t really matter now because Chuck was gone, and Thranduil wasn’t Chuck.

 

“This isn’t really what I wanted to discuss. I’ve been working on something on my own for a while now. A personal project. You remember that night that Thranduil disappeared and everyone kind of freaked out?”

 

“Oh yeah, Mr. I’m not into the dead elf--”

 

“-- Alive again. Anyway, I found some kind of interesting stuff. I don’t really think it’s magic. Actually, it might be. I’m not entirely sure what’s happening, but there have been similar instances all over Papen County recently. People losing time, not sure how long they’ve blacked out for, heart attacks that don’t really present like heart attacks. The body count is getting kind of high, and I think it has something to do with the case that we’re working on together. I think that’s kind of what was happening to Thranduil, except he kind of stumbled on something real.”

 

“You mean that there’s some sort of mind control going on?”

 

“I mean… maybe. Hypnotism works. I was thinking maybe it was something like that. Subliminal messages? I don’t know. But it’s kind of weird don’t you think? I keep thinking about that warehouse. And that name-- Melkor? Thranduil mentioned some sort of dark lord, and him returning, and… this sounds really insane, but we kind of know that elves are real and monsters are real. What if we didn’t really understand just how many different kinds of monsters there are? We could be in some real danger. Everyone could be. They got into Fëanor’s safe, they got ahold of something that uses the soul as a blueprint.

 

“Can we just kind of take a minute to imagine if magic was really real. What if it’s magic that we’re dealing with right now? I hate to be that guy, and I don’t really want to believe it because I don’t like the thought of someone less friendly having the same kind of power I have and knowing it better than I do. Because that’s kind of-- no not kind of-- that is terrifying.”

 

Emerson glanced at Ned with a deadpan expression, his hands folded on the table in front of the empty plate that had been smeared with the remains of strawberry rhubarb. The last rays of the sun began to fade through the large windows, casting long lines from the blinds across the tables and dining room. In the silence, Ned was acutely aware of the sound of Digby snoring under the table. Maybe it had been a little bit too bold to try and say something about magic. 

 

“Yeah,” Emerson finally relented. “I know I ain’t had no stroke or heart attack or whatever. Keep having these funky ass dreams about ghosts. We are not getting paid enough for this, we ain’t no ghost busters damnit.”

 

“Who you gonna call?” Ned shrugged his shoulders up with a half grin, relieved that the one person he knew he could count on really did believe him. Well, not the  _ one  _ person, but one of the very few. For once, Ned felt finally like he wasn’t so crazy. Like he was onto something.

 

“That ain’t funny,” Emerson grumbled, then stood up out of the booth, placing his hat on top of his head. “Best guess would be to start by asking Red who Melkor is and if the name means anything to him. I’m willing to bet my wallet that he’s got more than enough to tell us on the subject.”

 

Excited, Ned grabbed his coat and pulled it on over his shoulders. 

 

“I’ll call Cam and see if we can meet up. I think I’m going to go walk Digby. Tomorrow? Lunch?”

 

“Yeah, Lunch,” Emerson pushed his way out of the front doors and left Ned alone in The Pie Hole.  Ned pat his pockets down and frowned. He’d left his keys in the kitchen. 

 

“Come on Digby, let’s get the keys and go for a walk,” he chirped happily. Digby lifted his head, but instead of looking at Ned, he seemed to stare passed him whimpering and sliding further under the table. Ned frowned and looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t see anyone, or hear anyone either. He crinkled his brow and walked toward the kitchen. His footsteps seemed to echo just a little louder, his breath seemed to sound just a little heavier. 

 

Digby’s bark wasn’t the first thing that Ned noticed when he entered the kitchen. He could smell something akin to gasoline, but for the life of him he could not pin the source. Curious, he stepped further into the shadow that ate the back of the room toward the stairs. Ned swallowed hard and though he was about to call out to see if anyone was there, he was interrupted by the sound of one of the front windows shattering. 

 

Ned spun on his heel just in time to watch a bottle smash against the floor and explode into flames over tables, and corny pie themed decor. Quick as a flash, Ned grabbed his fire extinguisher and his phone. On the way to dial 911, three things happened all at once.

 

Digby started barking, all of the other windows in the Pie Hole smashed, and a rush of what felt like a breeze flew through. When the breeze hit the flame, its form lit up like the fourth of July. The creature let go of an ugly screech that made Ned cover his ears. His phone clattered to the floor, and Ned dodged to the side with barely enough time to save himself from being tackled by a flaming-- whateverthefuck that thing was. It looked similar to the thing that had attacked Emerson in the warehouse, but there was no way whatever this was was human. 

 

When it finally stopped moving,   the flames began to spin and give shape to something ungodly. It grew and howled menacingly as it spat sparks at Ned. It stood tall, with armor pointed and jagged, charcoal black and etched with fine detail. It had a voice so terrible speaking in a tongue that Ned remembered only vaguely. His heart beat against his chest so violently that it trapped the air in his lungs, and his insides turned to ice as he saw something in the back of his mind. It was something that he’d only heard about in hushed whispers from Bilbo to Thranduil when they thought they were alone. He felt the presence of what could only be described as a giant eye bearing down on him. The figure had to be bent at 9 ft tall, towering over the Pie Maker with such ferocity that he was sure that he was going to die of fright alone. 

 

Ned lost his footing and fell back onto the tile, scrambling back away from the monster that loomed over him. It felt like something burning was sorting through his very core, searching and seeing all of his darkest secrets. His eyes darted around the room to stare in horrified awe at everything he’d worked for going up in flame. Everyhing. Gone. The smell of smoke began to choke him, and far away he was sure Digby was still barking, but Ned’s attention was drawn back to the creature like Satan who was searching for one damning piece of evidence in his soul.

 

“I see you,” it hissed in a voice that pierced Ned’s ears. It reminded him of the depictions of the devil that the old priests used to tell him about in church. It harkened memories of nightmares that Ned used to have after sunday sermons, brimstone and lakes of fire for little boys who didn’t go to bed on time. 

 

That was all that the creature said, and that was all that Ned remembered. He’d been caught too long in the sorcery of what stood before him to notice the heat scorched lungs that were making it harder and harder to breathe. Ned succumbed quietly to the smell of smoke and the knowledge that he might possibly never wake up again from falling into slumber. Afraid, alone, and aware that the one place that had been home to him would be no more. 

 

As Ned’s eyes closed, the Maiar shrunk down in a flurry of flames. His hair whipped with the force of his own power, his veins lit bright orange with his fury threatening to burst from him again. Mairon watched Ned on the floor with a disgusted sneer on his lips. The Pie maker was supposed to be his. He was supposed to submit to Sauron and together they would have been able to unlock his true power. It was entirely too bad that the boy was the vessel for something that even he could not be in control of. He watched as the fire of his sorcery refused to crawl any closer to the Pie Maker, warded off by the bright yellow tendrils that lit up  Ned’s hands and arms, healing the damage of his burns and the destruction to his lungs caused by the smoke. Nearby, his dog cowered out of the way of the flames, reluctant to leave his master behind.

 

In a way, Mairon could relate to Digby. He too was only standing in this establishment by the suggestion of Melkor; Melkor had been right of course. Unenthusiastically, his faith in his dark lord was restored, and now it was obvious what must be done. There was no further need for him to work on opposite sides with his lord any longer. It was time to forgive and forget… That was, if Melkor would have him again. Mairon turned away from Ned just in time to see a tall figure standing in the doorway. 

 

His platinum hair fell around his shoulders in perfect order, his lips drew thin in rage, rage that lit his eyes so passionately with hatred that Mairon could only admire it. Thranduil stood in the collapsed doorway of the Pie Hole with not a single weapon at his disposal, and no plan whatsoever to take on someone as powerful as the Dark Lord Sauron. But there he stood. As loyal as Digby and just as willing to fight for the life of this Pie Maker. As if Ned had shared blood with those pathetic forest imps that Thranduil so cherished. It was no wonder that Ned couldn’t be his-- no, Vása’s. Vása didn’t have enough room left for love when hatred and anger ate at every facet of his soul. The all consuming. 

 

Vása could never love Ned, for Vása and Sauron were one and the same. But neither Thranduil nor Ned needed to know that. Nobody needed to know about the part of Vása’s heart that had hoped that the immortal flame would restore him to Mairon; without need, without thirst for glory, and without dependence on darkness and the Valar that ruled it. 

 

Sauron relented only once, for they needed Ned alive for the coming months and Melkor’s vision to come to pass. Vása died in the fire that refused to lap away at Ned’s skin. As he disappeared, so Sauron withered away from the corporeal world for the time being. He took solace in his formless invisibility and grieved for a life that could have been. 

 

Thranduil felt his shoulders uncoil. There was no time to be afraid. As soon as Sauron disappeared in a gust that nearly knocked the Elvenking off of his feet, Thranduil was moving across the hellscape that had once been the Pie Hole. Fire truck sirens sounded outside, but the only sound that Thranduil focused on was the sound of Digby barking, tucked on the floor in the small circle of safety around Ned. 

 

Thranduil knelt down and paused before touching Ned. He was no good to the Pie Maker if he was dead. If they made skin to skin contact, he would die, and they would be trapped inside of this inferno. He had no idea how long Ned’s magic would last before it ran low, or killed him from exertion. Thranduil pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around Ned until he was in a tight little cocoon. The building groaned with effort to stay standing, and Thranduil knew he was running low on time. 

 

Without regard to himself, he swept Ned up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then picked Digby up under his other arm. With the grace of his people and sure lightfootedness, Thranduil found his way to one of the broken windows. He vaulted himself out mere moments before the whole front of the Pie Hole crumbled in on itself. The Pie Hole came to an end in a tragic breath of flame and smoke. Thranduil set Digby on his paws and knelt down on the pavement, clutching Ned to his chest like he was the most precious gem in a hill of rocks.

 

Ash stained his hair and coated both their faces. Ned was still breathing steadily, though the yellow glow from his skin died out and faded away. For the moment, they were safe, and without thinking Thranduil drew the Pie Maker into a tight embrace. This time he had managed to save someone. To pull someone else out of the flame. Thranduil knew how devastating it was to lose everything in one fell swoop. The fire burned too hot and too quickly for the firefighters to do much more than let it burn itself out. There would be nothing left of Ned’s beloved Pie Hole. 

 

Thranduil felt an ache of sympathy in his chest. It wasn’t too long before paramedics came to their aid, and they loaded Ned onto a stretcher-- much to Thranduil’s reluctance. Digby was placed on the stretcher beside Ned, Thranduil’s coat separating them, as the dog absolutely refused to leave Ned and snapped at anyone who tried to take him. Neither of them looked to be in particularly good condition. Thranduil stood dumbly still as the Paramedics checked him over. 

 

_ ‘Yes I’m the same person you saw a week ago’, ‘No, I don’t know what happened’, ‘I just heard the glass break and I went to see what was happening and heard Digby barking’.  _ Thranduil had to repeat the story over and over again. He sat in the ambulance and watched as they cut Ned free of his shirt, and held his jacket as well as Digby’s collar as the Paramedics worked to make sure that Ned would survive. It seemed like everyone was baffled by how lucky both of them had been that they got out with only minor cuts and bruises. 

 

Emerson and Olive met them at the hospital, Olive in tears of course, and Emerson with a somber look on his face. Thranduil felt far away from all of them as he clutched at Digby’s collar. Olive was kind enough to take Digby to the veterinary hospital.

 

Ned came back to consciousness long enough for Thranduil to hear him quietly beg not to be taken to the hospital. It came from him in a voice so small and scared that if Thranduil hadn’t been looking right at the Pie Maker, he would have thought the voice belonged to a child. After that, the lot of them were banished to the waiting room to wait for news.

 

\-----

 

Consciousness came and went like a flickering light. Sometimes Ned would open his eyes long enough to catch blurry pictures of reality. The first concrete thing that Ned remembered feeling was dread. He remembered the smell of smoke, and the distinct stench of burning plastic. He couldn’t remember whether or not that had been a nightmare, or whether or not it was real. He felt sore, groggy, slow, and distant every time he opened his eyes. 

 

Ned was never awake for very long. He remembered seeing faces, hearing voices, and there had definitely been somebody there holding his hand at some point. The first time Ned opened his eyes for longer than ten seconds, he was able to focus in on the face of Cam-- Maedhros… he sat in a chair at the end of Ned’s bed, dutifully watching the door as he leaned on what looked like a long sword. Surely he was seeing things though. Ned swore as he looked at Maedhros he saw a bright light emanating from inside of him that reminded him of the sun. 

 

He must have dozed off while staring, because when he opened his eyes again, Maedhros was talking to someone who looked familiar. His voice was a quiet rumble like thunder, and his eyes pierced through the grogginess of Ned’s mind long enough to make an impression. They looked like they had thousands of years of anger and vengeance behind them. 

 

“The enemy of my enemy… He is our ticket… Maedhros he is but one human… that fire… a myth…”

 

“He is my friend.”

 

Ned fell asleep again with a warm feeling in his chest. 

 

It took three full days for Ned to come back to himself completely. When he woke and felt as though he could actually sit up instead of feeling like foggy hands were pulling him back toward sleep, Ned noticed that the chair had been moved from the end of his bed up beside him, and he was alone. His room was empty, and he felt sweaty and clammy. His heart rate monitor beeped in his ear ominously, faster and faster.

 

He was alone. In a hospital. In a room. Oh god. Was he in a facility or something? Had someone found out about his gift? 

 

_ ‘I would like to go back to the fire in the Pie Hole, please. I’ll take that over being experimented on. This isn’t fun. Please wake up, wake up, wake up.”  _ Drenched in sweat, Ned gripped his bed railings and cried out in surprise when the door opened. His heart rate slowed down considerably when Bilbo Baggins walked in through the door. He startled too at the sound of Ned startling, and between the two of them, they looked like a pair of scared mice that had just figured out that they were on the pressure pad of a trap. 

 

“Oh-- oh, blast it all! I left for just a moment to get a tea! I was falling asleep and I thought to myself: “Bilbo, if Ned wakes up and finds you gone, it’s going to be a right disaster!” Sorry, so sorry. I didn’t want to go falling asleep on you either. See, I’m on watch right now. Any sign of you waking up and I’m supposed to text message-- oh, yes. I should do that. Hang on just a tick.”

 

Ned’s hand shot out, grabbing Bilbo’s phone away from him to scroll through the contacts. It was rude, and of course Bilbo let him know that. In a haughty tisk, but Ned ignored him. He dialed Olive’s number just as quick as his hands would let him. Why Olive? He wasn’t quite sure, but he was relieved to hear her voice on the other end.

 

“Hello, you’ve reached Olive Snook, what can I do ya for?” It sounded like she had the phone on speaker while she bustled around doing goodness knows what.

 

“Olive?! Olive!” Ned let out a nervous laugh that doubled as a relieved sigh. “You have to come get me. Right now. If you can. I mean please-- if you don’t mind. I’m in-- where am I?” Ned covered the receiver and looked at Bilbo.

 

“Well, the hospital of course. You got trapped in that awful, awful fire.” 

 

Ned watched Bilbo as if he was deciding whether or not to believe him, acutely aware of Olive sobbing into the phone. Ned brought it back up to his ear and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

 

“I’m in the hospital…”

 

“I know you are!” Olive cried out. “You’ve been there for three days Ned! We’ve been worrying our behinds off about you. Hell, even Lily and Vivian came out to visit you, you know. Oh Ned, Digby misses you. We all miss you. We were so scared.”

 

“I don’t know what happened. The windows shattered and then there was just fire… everywhere.”

 

“You were a victim of arson Ned! Someone burned down the entire building. The cops have the whole area taped off and Emerson can’t even get the inside scoop. At least your insurance pay out is going to cover it all--”

 

“Cover what?” Ned was confused. He hadn’t even considered insurance, or rebuilding, or what it would even cost. There were so many things running through his head, and so many questions that he wanted to ask. Before he could, there was another knock on his hospital room door. Thranduil opened the door as quietly as possible, smiling warmly when he saw that Ned was awake.

 

“I gotta go Olive. Thanks.”

 

“You sure you don’t want me to come get you?” She teased. “I can but I think it’s a tad illegal to go on the run during an insurance and arson investigation.”

 

“I’m all right, promise. Bye.”

 

“Take care of yourself Pie Maker, you hear me?” Olive’s protective mother bear instinct was shining right through. It felt like a hug over the phone, and Ned’s heart could have burst with happiness. 

 

“Yeah,” he whispered, then hung up the phone. He handed it back to Bilbo with an apologetic look. Before he could register what was happening, Thranduil had crossed the room and had taken his hand. He was wearing gloves, long sleeves, and bands around his wrists to be sure that there was no exposed skin. 

 

“It is good to see that you are all right,” Thranduil told him gently. He looked relieved beyond words, and Ned felt warmth swell up in his chest. He could smile and laugh little bubbles if at all possible. The way Thranduil looked at him seemed to make everything feel just all right again. “We feared for your wellbeing. Something foul befell you three nights ago, and we have been on the watch on your behalf since.” Thranduil spoke rather quickly, and Ned wasn’t sure he was picking up on everything. He looked between Thranduil and  Bilbo and realized that the gravity of the situation was much worse than he had guessed. He’d hoped it had just been part of his nightmares. That happy feeling faded away.

 

“That was him. Wasn’t it? I saw him. That dark lord dude. That guy?” Ned’s voice was hushed and reserved. 

 

Thranduil looked to tense, and that was all Ned needed to know. 

 

“Why am I not dead?”

 

Bilbo and Thranduil exchanged an uneasy look between them. Neither of them could say for sure what the intentions of Sauron had been, especially with Ned. Thranduil could guess, but he did not want to alarm Ned by telling him that Sauron likely knew of his gift. Ned felt his stomach drop. That same feeling of dread began to swallow him down.  

 

“Maybe it was a warning? Stop looking into this and that and-- and I’ll leave you alone. That could be it, couldn’t it? Just a warning?”

 

“No,” Thranduil whispered to him. He sat down beside Ned and stayed silent for a moment longer.  “Maedhros has been with you a good portion of the time that you have been here. Fëanor would like to have a chat with you… Ned, why didn’t you tell me that you were investigating a person called “Melkor”?” The question wasn’t accusatory in any way, but Ned still felt defensive. How was he supposed to answer something like that? He didn’t even know what Melkor had to do with Sauron, but something told him that he was about to find out.

 

“I-- well at the time I didn’t really think it was important. I would have told you-- I was going to once I had more information, but you kind of had enough on your plate. You were kind of shaken up after that house and… I just wanted to help you.”

 

Thranduil’s smile broke into a confused frown, and Ned was scared that he’d said too much. 

 

“You’re my friend right? I just… wanted to help,” Ned concluded, and Thranduil relented to him with a soft sigh of discontent. He let go of Ned’s hand and looked on at him with an air of admiration and affection. Everything Ned had been doing in the passing weeks had been for him, and here it had almost gotten him killed. Since day one, Ned had put himself on the line for Thranduil, given him life, and welcomed him into his home. A home that no longer existed. 

 

“You are not alone in this investigation any longer Ned. Maedhros and I are on your side. Whether or not we like each other, we have a common goal of keeping you as safe as we are able.”

 

“Pardon me, I feel like I’m intruding so I think I’ll just have a step outside and give Thorin a call,” Bilbo interrupted quietly on his way out the door. There wasn’t enough time for Ned to protest, and soon he was left alone with the Elvenking-- the one who was looking at him like he was shining light out his ass. Maybe it was the drugs, or the panic, or maybe he was still dreaming… but Ned was certain that the look Thranduil was giving him now was similar to the way he used to look at Chuck. It was a look that filled his stomach full  of sparklers and butterflies. 

 

It was a look that made him feel warm all over; most importantly, Ned felt safe in Thranduil’s presence. Moreso when he noticed that Thranduil had something hidden under his cloak. The presence of the handle of a sword  reinforced the severity of the situation, but Ned chose to ignore it. It was that moment that suddenly he felt a pang of terrible guilt. 

 

“Vása,” he whispered and looked around for his phone. Thranduil said nothing, though he felt his hand ball at his side. His heart beat felt uneven and quick; though Thranduil had been the one to stay beside Ned, of course Ned would be looking for the one that his heart had chosen. It was disappointing, but Thranduil let go of that emotion as quickly as it seemed like it might overwhelm him. Instead he chose to be happy for his friend, and support the fact that Ned had found someone to cherish. It worried him, though, how Vása had not visited once since Ned had fallen to the flame. 

 

Thranduil pulled his phone out of his pocket and offered it to Ned. Ned started at it for a moment as if he’d been offered an explosive. Despite his hesitance, Ned took Thranduil’s phone and dialed Vása’s number. 

 

It took six separate tries, but eventually Vása picked up.

 

“Hello?” His voice sounded raspy, and tired. It felt different, and Ned couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

 

“Hey… I’m sorry I missed our date again. I kind of have a good excuse though. I mean. You probably figured it out by now.” Ned tried to keep humor in his voice, but the tension on the line refused to dissipate. It lingered on, and Ned looked to Thranduil for reassurance. Thranduil only smiled at him and nodded his head. “I got… kind of attacked. The Pie Hole is gone, I… um. I need a place to stay and I thought… if you wanted to reconnect and feel more like you’re valued-- I could stay there for the night after I get out of the hospital? If… You know. If you’re okay with that?”

 

More silence. 

 

“Vása?” Ned felt concern growing in his chest. On the other end, Sauron sat half clothed on a messy bedspread. His pants were off hung over the footboard, and Melkor lay sprawled beside him listening in. The challenging look on his face just dared Mairon to go ahead and be domestic with this boy. After he’d come to Melkor’s apartment in a flurry of jealousy and angry sex, Melkor was challenging him to go crawling back to the life of domesticity like a worm. After all he’d done to prove that Ned was exactly what he’d thought he was. 

 

“Sorry but… Ned, I didn’t even come visit you when you were out you know that right? I was petty, and angry at you for choosing… him.”

 

“I didn’t choose him though I chose you. I mean you’re the one I’m in a relationship with right. I wasn’t exactly ready when we started it. That’s the truth. And I don’t know if I really am, but I would like to try. I’m not hung up over… anyone alive right now. Okay? I just-- he’s a friend Vása. That’s all. A friend.” Ned felt himself getting angry. “Nevermind. My apartment kind of just burned down, and I shouldn’t really have to convince you to let me stay with you--”

 

“You can,” Mairon blurted, and shoved Melkor off of him, who’d been trying to distract him with sinfully pleasurable kisses over the insides of his thighs. Mairon used his foot on Melkor’s shoulder to push him back. “Ned, I’ve been pretty shitty to you too,” Mairon  admitted in Vása’s sweetest voice. “Will you forgive me for that? I just got so jealous. You two seemed so close, and I felt threatened.” 

 

“Yeah… I’m not really happy about it, or the whole… manipulation thing. But how about we start over and we can curl up on the couch together or something when I get there and we can watch a movie. I haven’t done that before and I think it looks like fun. Well I have, but… not really with a boyfriend or girlfriend. Not in a way that I enjoyed it.” 

 

Mairon had to hold back a throaty sound as Melkor’s lips sealed around the head of his cock through the cloth of his boxers, and he was pressed back against the bed by a large and demanding hand. Mairon pulled the phone away from his ear and swallowed back the moan he wanted to reward Melkor with. When he’d composed himself enough, he continued:

 

“Look, Ned, I’ll talk to you later okay? I’ve got to finish-- um. I’ve got to go.” 

 

Ned frowned as he heard a click from the other end, unsure whether or not he was on good terms with his boyfriend or not. He handed Thranduil’s phone back to him and laid back against his pillow to look up at the frustratingly white tiled ceiling. Thranduil put his phone away in his pocket and focused on getting Ned’s mind off of the train of thought it appeared to be crashing on. 

 

“So… You must be quite hungry. If you would like, I can see if we can get you a slice of pie when you get out of here,” Thranduil offered. “Was it not you who said that Pie definitely can not do anything to hurt you on a bad day? Something much like that.” 

 

“I appreciate that, but it kind of just makes me think about how I don’t have the Pie Hole anymore… and I’m going to have to start all over from scratch and I kind of can’t afford it, and I’m pretty sure that if I can’t make Vása happy, I’m going to be homeless.”

 

Thranduil let out a little chuckle, which Ned found to be a little insulting, and he did express this with a rather patented mouth drop and bitch face. Thranduil covered his mouth to show that he meant to offense by laughing.

 

“You wouldn’t know yet-- of course. Thorin and his nephews are going to rebuild your home for you. They too know what it is like to lose their home to fire. Thorin and Bilbo have spent the last two days raising money to afford to rebuild for you. Besides, if what is called ‘insurance’ goes through, Thorin Oakenshield says that rebuilding your home will not take them long. Dwarves are masters of their craft. Worry not, Pie Maker. Your friends are behind you. We would not let you go homeless.”

 

Overwhelmed, Ned watched Thranduil for a moment to be sure that he was serious. 

 

“And… If my being your friend is getting in the way of something important to you, all you must do is request that I step aside--”

 

“No. Sorry-- no. I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to end my friendship because he’s insecure about something. I don’t think he’d do that for me, and I’m pretty sure that he’s kind of not interested in fixing things, and he’s inviting me out of obligation and… well I’m just… let’s see how it goes right?”

 

“Indeed, and if things do not work out?”

 

Ned peeked at the mischievous light in Thranduil’s eyes and couldn’t be sure what exactly he meant. 

 

“You and I go out on a date or something?” Ned chanced, mostly as a joke. He offered his crooked grin, but his grin did not last when he heard Thranduil’s reply.

 

“I would be honored.”


	11. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is a warning. There is a scene in this chapter that is sexually abusive. There are mentions of emotional abuse, and things that are generally unpleasant in this area. If these sort of things trigger you, read on cautiously. Skip the shower scene.

Time passed queerly in The Halls of Mandos. Through the gate into the dark abyss, Legolas found it hard to focus on the voices of his friends. Beyond the entranceway was not how he had expected it to be. It wasn’t a hole of darkness with a single path. There were many branching paths, though darkness did engulf them in every direction which they decided to pass. Aragorn was a quiet guide over stone and through mist; the crown on his head shone on like a lantern. 

 

Gandalf and Gimli spoke between themselves, and above, Nerdanel rode on the back of Telumendil, and from their height silver dust fell down around them like snow with each flap of expansive wings. Now and again, Gimli would harrumph and brush it away from his beard and his shoulders, but Legolas was the one who guessed to himself that it was this dust that kept them from being weary. It replenished their soul and soothed their nerves. 

 

As they walked on, Legolas fell into a pace beside Aragorn and looked on his face as if he were peering into the countenance of a stranger. A stranger he was then, even as he smiled. Legolas had to remind himself that this man was a ghost, whether he was the ghost of his friend or not. It seemed as time went on, he was surrounded more and more by ghosts and phantoms from the past. 

 

Aragorn followed Legolas’ gaze over his shoulder to Gimli, who laughed and joked and worked hard to keep up with Gandalf’s longer legs. 

 

“You can not live today if you fear the phantoms of tomorrow,” Aragorn reminded him quietly, but Legolas barely heard him. 

 

“Did you see him? When he passed through? Is he here in these halls?” Legolas had not wanted to ask. It would have meant going on to face that his father truly had died, and that returning he would not have Thranduil by his side. Aragorn did not answer him; instead he only smiled and carried on. Legolas began to wonder at himself.

 

If they did find Thranduil, what were his intentions then? He had to remember that there was a reason beyond finding his kin that drove him through the gates and toward the edge of the void. There was a calling to him that grew stronger in his heart the closer they came to… something. The unknown road ahead of them was not one that the living had passed too many times… surely? 

 

“His words are limited.” Legolas jumped as Gandalf stood over his shoulder, watching Aragorn walk. “Oh that isn’t to say he cannot hear you of course but… the dead are content in themselves even when their friends come to pass them by. I imagine he’s almost lost the ability to speak much among the living. He is tethered here you see, by our purpose. He has his purpose and then on he will go I do suppose. The road goes ever on.”

 

“And where will he go?”

 

“Into nothingness I should think. Or perhaps back to the hall to sit with his father and his father before him… to wait. And there they all wait.”

 

“What for?” Legolas asked, a troubled look set into his brow.

 

“That I cannot say,” Gandalf replied evenly. “Even I don’t know what will keeps them there or what purpose. Until they’re called upon, or until the world needs them. For Aragorn I suspect he will wait until Arwen comes again to join him and call him forth from that place in which he slumbers. His eyes are full of stars,” Gandalf whispered and watched on. 

 

“Will that happen too to Gimli?”

 

“Oh who can say, who can say? At the stubborn rate of dwarves I would like to say that Gimli will never die, but time makes fools of us all.” Gandalf leaned heavily on his walking stick, his blue eyes peering out from behind bushy eyebrows. 

 

“The dead are strange,” Legolas said loud enough for Aragorn to turn and watch them with a far away look. Gandalf pat Legolas on the shoulder, then took his place beside Aragorn to walk alongside him. Something wasn’t right, though Legolas could not tell just what that something was. For as he watched Aragorn and Gandalf walk, it was that they both seemed to glide while Gimli who trailed on after them had his feet rooted firmly on the ground, gabbing on about the pipe and salted meats. 

 

His heart clenched as he realized for whom Gandalf spoke; Aragorn was not to be their guide through the dark, but a beacon. A guest to see them on their journey, as far gone as he was now in his waiting. It was Gandalf who was meant to be their guide, and as soon as his mind fell to this conclusion their surroundings began to change. 

 

An earthen smell wafted to them through the dark, and the mist parted on the road. On each side of the path there stood tall trees that reached their branches up into the sunless sky. Through the dark their boughs were only shadows, and their trunks were almost as wide as they were tall. The wind from inside of the forest called to them with a hungry rustling of the leaves, and before goodbyes could be said, Aragorn passed on down the road, swallowed by the mist. 

 

“Where is he going? Aragorn! Aragorn!” Gimli called into the trees. 

 

“He will not let us go on alone, come Gimli. His spirit is with us,” Legolas told his friend and carried on to follow bravely after their beacon. The eagles swooped down lower to them and watched on ahead with eyes keen as the elves’. On each side of them the woods stretched on, and the Gathering walked until they could once again see Aragorn, who had stopped for them. 

 

“We should wait here while they pass,” he told them.

 

“Who?” Gimli asked abruptly, his hands going for an ax he didn’t have. 

 

“Them,” Gandalf watched the road ahead of them and saw not but shadows of very large deer crossing over the road. Legolas watched them for a moment and tilted his head. They looked familiar to him, and it was then he realized--

 

“This is Eryn Lasgalen. That doe, I have seen her. When I was young-- I remember her markings. She had a fawn and this was the crossing my Adar took me to. I was barely the height of his knee and he taught me about the deer and the roads, where they cross and where they go when the snow comes to claim the land. This is Eryn Lasgalen that we travel through.”

 

“A granados memory of it,” Aragorn corrected. “I do suspect you’ll be passing through a memory or two on your way to the void. This is a notorious hall. If you aren’t careful, it will keep you. That is its job. Time will pass… land, and mountain will turn to ash before you realize you’ve spent too long in these woods,” Aragorn warned them. “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. These dreams, these memories; they are not born of evil, but they are meant to heal the fractures in you. When my spirit first graced these roads I was on the path near the riverbeds of Imladris. Keep your wit, keep yourself, and do not venture on alone.”

 

The Gathering was gravely quiet for a moment, that was until there was laughter in the trees. All around, shining eyes peered down at them, gleaning their  path and dropping down leaves and pinecones. The spirits of elves shone like stars along the branches, light and weaving, disappearing and reappearing with the red lanterns in their hands as they jumped and glided, leapt and bound, and sang down to the passengers on the road.

 

_ “O’ a merry gathering _

_ Happy as can be _

_ Spin around spin around _

_ Can’t catch me _

 

_ O’ a merry gathering _

_ Giggle giggle glee _

_ Spin around spin around _

_ Can’t see me” _

 

Legolas remembered the tune from his youth; it had been a silly song that they would sing before going off to play hide and seek in the branches. The finder would cover their eyes and sing, and it had been said that the song would ward off evil so the hiders could be safe in the trees. Thranduil had taught it to him when he was very small, had sung it to him when they first played, and then had pretended for a very long time that Legolas had turned invisible and had been the best hide and seek partner that he had ever known. 

 

“We are going the right way,” Legolas felt a wave of warmth wash over him. Perhaps these were not his own memories, but the memories of someone who, too, had passed along this path to the void. His suspicions were confirmed  as a young light ran passed them and turned to face them on the road. His face was bright and full of hope, and a need for adventure. Legolas stared on at the memory of himself who said something he could not hear.

 

Gimli laughed and elbowed him in the side.

 

“Quite a small young lad weren’t ya?” He snorted “And give a glance at those ears!”

 

Legolas turned on Gimli with a wide eyed expression.

 

“What’s wrong with my ears!?” 

“They are fine ears,” Nerdanel giggled  behind them. “Oh you should have seen my boys. Why, when Maitimo was that young, he had twigs in his hair, and Valar forbid he should ever keep the knees in any of his pants,” Nerdanel remembered on. She looked at the forest with a fond love in her face. She was thinking on about the seven brothers she had given birth to, raised, and let die. For the moment her guilt was quailed in the wake of her love, and the Gathering all seemed to take notice that her hair glowed a brighter red, her eyes shone a deeper green, and her smile stretched just a little bit wider. 

 

“Ah,” Gandalf interrupted their thoughts for one of his own. “I do remember now. There will be three paths to take before we reach the edge of it all. Three paths and many memories. His life will have, as men might say, flashed before his eyes?”

 

\-----

 

Ned opened his eyes groggily; his chest felt tight and scratchy. His whole body was aching, and sleeping on the couch was of no help to him. He could hear Vása bustling around in the kitchen making breakfast, and someone else was there speaking to him in a hushed tone. Ned grabbed for his phone and pulled it to his face to look at it. 

 

9:30 am. Digby whined on the floor beside him, his tail swishing. For a moment, Ned’s chest tightened with the realization that he was at least 4 hours late for opening the Pie Hole. Soon enough he remembered that he had no Pie Hole to open today, except for the one on his face. 

 

He stood up carefully, Digby getting up and out of his way before he put his feet on the floor. Ned watched the way his friend’s ears perked, the way he watched the kitchen with a strange sort of interest. Digby had been sticking close to his side since he’d come to Vása’s house. It didn’t seem a lot like Digby liked Vása very much, or Anna. For that matter, if he could help it, Digby had been going seemingly out of his way to stand between Vása and Ned, knowing that Ned wouldn’t be able to get any closer unless he wanted to risk killing his best friend. 

 

Ned hadn’t liked it much to begin with, but the longer he stayed around Vása, the more he was beginning to wonder if there was a point to it. Vása didn’t seem like the same person Ned had gotten to know. More and more, it seemed like he’d been losing his cool. He seemed disinterested in dinners with Ned, with holding hands, or with the mundane things that the two of them used to enjoy together. The last time that Ned had tried to kiss him, Vása had been reluctant to stay still. 

 

That morning, Ned gazed off toward the kitchen, then thought twice about joining his boyfriend and what sounded like Anna having breakfast together. He headed instead to the bathroom. It was immaculate to say the least. Everything in Vása’s house was clean. It stayed clean. That was that, and no acceptions. Ned had been instructed to make the bed, and he’d been shown twice now just how it should be done. That night, he’d fallen asleep on the couch to save himself the trouble in the morning. 

 

Now he stood in front of a spotless mirror, looking on at the bags under his eyes and the tired creases around their corners. He wasn’t even 30, and he was beginning to feel older than any of the elves he’d met so far. Ned brushed his teeth quietly and closed the door behind him with the heel of his foot. With his toothbrush still in his mouth, he turned on the water for a shower and ditched his pajama bottoms. Ones he’d borrowed from Thranduil on his way out of the hospital. 

 

Not that Vása needed to know that. 

 

Nobody really needed to know how much Ned had found himself enjoying the far and few in between moments with Thranduil. As awkward as things had gotten at the hospital, Ned couldn’t stop himself from casting glances at him between feeling guilty about dating so soon after Chuck, feeling stupid for letting himself think that he didn’t have a shot, and feeling impatient with Vása for being impatient with him. It didn’t stop him from getting in the shower and pulling the curtain, leaning back against the shower wall and sliding his hand down his stomach toward his cock. 

 

His thoughts were interrupted with a knock on the door, and the door opening to Vása’s form stripping free of his clothes. Ned pulled his hands away from himself in a hurry so he could pull the curtain aside just enough to peek out at the head of blond hair, and those beautiful eyes staring at him. 

 

No words passed between them as Vása took Ned’s face between his hands and connected their lips in a way that made energy crackle down Ned’s spine. It was a miracle he didn’t slip as he backed under the water and bumped his crown against the showerhead. Vása only smiled and brushed Ned’s wet hair out of his eyes, then kissed him again. Tongues tangled, Ned’s smoke damaged scratchy chest hurried to catch up to the breath needed when those hands on his cheeks slid down his chest; they searched around his sides and cupped his ass to pull Ned’s water slick hips against Vása’s, whom the Pie Maker discovered felt warmer than the spray of water. More inviting. Addicting. 

 

And at that very moment, Ned forgot about the spills of platinum hair that would frame Thranduil’s face and neck. He forgot about the way a kiss felt through plastic wrap, and the guilt that clawed at him every time he thought about grabbing some to see just what Thranduil would feel like up close. Ned tasted coffee and strawberries, smelled charcoal and dove soap, and felt he nip of sharp teeth on his lower lip dragging him forward. Splendid. His own fingers found the touch of skin as fair as Vása’s like fine satin. 

 

When Ned opened his eyes-- eyes he had not been aware that he’d closed-- he looked back at brown wells that seemed to burn with lust like little black coals. 

 

“Uh… hm…” Ned felt his jaw go slack with the fist that gripped the base of his cock and pumped up toward the head. His thoughts cut short, and he forgot what he’d intended to say. Despite the overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation of being intimate with someone he cared about, Ned wasn’t interested in anything like this. Not yet. “I-I god I don’t want you to stop that but I really… I would like to uh…” Ned watched Vása’s face grow sad, and his shoulders go slack. “Well we don’t have any condoms or… you know. Don’t you need lube for something like this?”

 

“Ned it’s just a hand job. Get over it. You’ll like it,” Vása laughed. The condescending sound of his boyfriend’s breath against his lips made Ned’s stomach drop and his erection begin to soften. 

 

“No. I don’t want to have sex right now,” Ned said firmly, grabbing hold of Vása’s wrist to push his hand away.

 

“I wasn’t going to fuck you in the shower,” Vása snapped at him, and Ned flinched away from the accusatory statement. “I thought maybe I’d help you feel good this morning. That’s all. I thought you would like something like that. Just a freebie little handjob. You didn’t even have to return it or anything. Ungrateful--” Vása stopped himself and bit his tongue. Without saying anything else, he pulled back the curtain and ripped a towel off of one of the hooks, exiting the bathroom in a flurry that reminded Ned of a storm burning up on the horizon. 

 

Feeling dazed, Ned finished his shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He grabbed his pajama pants off of the floor and paused before he tried to wipe away the condensation on the mirror. Comically, he hung his head and dropped his hand away, still dripping water on the floor. Haphazardly he wiped away at the dribbles with the bathroom mat and left the bathroom into the rest of the frigid house. 

 

Vása was locked away in his room, so Ned grabbed his bag, pulled on his pajama pants under his towel. Without thinking to leave a note, he hung his towel over the end of the couch and left the house. Digby clicked along beside him, panting. He looked happier than he had in days of being with Ned in Vása’s house. Not long after, his phone rang, and Ned ignored it after looking at the caller ID. 

 

There was no way for him to identify the feeling in his stomach. The one that grew uncomfortably cold and bloomed, and made him replay the scene over and over again in his head. That wasn’t something that someone who loved him should have done, and after that, he was certain that he wasn’t going to go back. 

 

Without looking, Ned ran right into Anna. She swore and stumbled, dropping her coffee on the sidewalk. Digby barked at her, his tail wagging nervously as he backed away. He barked again, and suddenly more than ever, Ned wanted to be as far away from Anna and Vása as possible. Thranduil had been right. He’d always been right. 

 

“Sorry. I’m really sorry, I’m in a bit of a hurry and I’ve got to go and--” 

 

“Is everything okay?” Anna visibly softened as she looked Ned up and down. He looked like a mess, his wet hair sticking up here and there. His pajama pants clung loosely around his damp waist, and she was pretty certain he was wearing two different shoes. He looked like a high end homeless person, like one of the people she’d seen coming out of the gyms around 11 at night. 

 

“Fine. Perfect.”

 

“Ned-- seriously. What’s going on?” She pulled her coffee stained coat off and hung it over her arm, looking at him expectantly. He didn’t want to tell Anna anything. Not with the way that Digby was reacting. There was something in the back of his mind that screamed at him to get as far away as humanly possible. Run. Run, Ned, Run.

 

“I just-- Bilbo. Bilbo called me and he said he was having gardening… emergencies. That… um. It sounded more serious than I’m making it sound, but he said something about needing someone tall because he’s quite… small. And I was in the shower, and I think it has something to do with Thorin-- maybe. And… weed… killer.” It was a horrible lie, he knew it. Anna wasn’t buying it, but she knew that she wasn’t going to be getting any more out of him. She drew her lips thin and shrugged awkwardly before stepping out of his way.

 

“Right… If you see Vása again, tell him we have a meeting--”

 

“I won’t… um. Tell him yourself,” he blurted rather rudely. He gave a quick, pained, apologetic look and then moved on down the side walk, his shoulders shrugged up to his ears. 

 

Once around the corner, Ned jogged to his car and got in, locking his doors while Digby made himself comfortable on the back seat. He took a few deep breaths that seemed to do absolutely nothing for him. Bile rose up in his throat, and Ned leaned his head back to try and count in his head. Four seconds in, seven seconds hold, eight seconds out, repeat. The car felt cramped, his hands white knuckled around the steering wheel as he bent his head back forward. 

 

He was having a panic attack, quiet as it was. Once his breath was regained, that didn’t stop the prickles of anxiety that spiked up and down his stomach. His throat felt itchy on the inside, and his shoulders shook with a bone deep shiver that just wouldn’t go away. Ned let out a soft sound between ‘oh my god’ and ‘what the fuck’. 

 

When his vision cleared enough to safely drive, Ned pulled the keys out of his jacket and pushed them into the ignition. He started his car, and didn’t stop it for four whole hours. He drove out of the city, into the city, around the streets-- when Ned finally stopped the car, he found that he’d pulled up in front of his old house in Coeur d'Coeurs. The house had been abandoned for a long while, though his dad had never bothered to sell it.

 

It was in a state of disrepair, but at least it was far away from where anyone would be able to really find him, and that was what he wanted. Ned opened the door for Digby, then headed inside. He took off his shoes at the door and took a deep breath in. The smell of stale dust and sun roasted wood filled him to the brim and brought him back to the safety of childhood. He remembered back when he would walk in and smell dinner-- roast beef, potatoes, and gravy. He remembered walking in to the smell of pies of every flavor. 

 

Ned turned the corner to sit at his abandoned kitchen table, his face pressed into his hands. Quickly, his guilt began to eat him alive at every frayed memory he tried to use as comfort. All those years ago, killing Chuck’s dad, killing his mom, and then so many years later, killing Chuck. Then moving on so quickly for a jerk like Vása. 

 

“Am I a terrible person?” Ned asked Digby. He rested his hand on his mouth and blinked hard to push back the threat of tears with a frustrated growl. There would be no tears, please and thank you. There had been more than enough of that after he’d been alone and thinking about all the work he’d put into the Pie Hole. How it was all just gone. He shook his head vigorously and jumped when his phone rang. Just what he needed. He picked it up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Hello?” He choked his way through a greeting, then took a deep breath and tried again. “Hello.”

 

“It’s… Cam-- Maedhros. Hey. Did I catch you at a bad time Ned?” That wasn’t a voice he’d been expecting to hear. 

 

“No-- well, yeah, but it’s all right. I can deal with it later, really. What’s up?”

 

“Um… Well I’m kind of sleeping out in my car tonight and I wanted to ask if I could… you know. Park behind where the Pie Hole used to be. It’s still your property.”

 

Ned felt his heart drop in his chest. The Pie Hole burning down hadn’t just meant shit hitting the fan for him, it meant shit hitting the fan for Maedhros too. That had been his only source of income, and Ned hadn’t been able to cut him a check since he’d gone to the hospital. He probably missed his rent. Again. 

 

“You can stay with me.”

 

There was a pause on the line.

 

“Ned, I like you, but full offense intended, your boyfriend is a cock,” Maedhros grumbled from the other end. 

 

“I know,” Ned cut in. “I mean at my house. My childhood home. It’s kind of abandoned but it’s better than nothing you know? If you bring some food or something I’ll pay you back when you get here because there’s kind of nothing here unless you want to eat dead bugs and dandelions.”

 

Maedhros paused and thought about asking Ned why he was staying at an abandoned house instead of at Vása’s, but the first two words told more of the story than Maedhros probably wanted to know. He considered it, then sighed. He only had about 40 bucks in his account, but it was enough to get a bit of gas and dinner for two. 

 

“Yeah. Address?”

 

“Coeur d'Coeurs.”

 

\-----

Gimli opened his eyes to the sight of the branches above his head moving much swifter than he’d anticipated. The feeling of wings beating at their sides, and the ripple of muscle under his back took him by surprise. He’d not remembered falling asleep, but judged it must have happened some time between when Gandalf lit them a fire and Legolas began telling tales of his early days in Mirkwood-- Eryn Lasgalen. The stories of song and mirth had lulled him into a rest against the wing of Celeghir.

 

Gandalf had hoisted him onto the back of the strong bird, and they had continued down the path while their friend slept away. None of the others needed rest as he did, his body still mortal and his mind drowsy from the silver dust that rained down on them like snow. 

 

It was a different vantage point from the back of the birds. The roots below them looked like threads of fingers weaving in the dirt, and the dark looked to swallow up the foliage like a hungry open maw. Below them, the others walking looked like specks. Above him, Telumendil and Bellhûn glided on steady wings. Not a whisper of wind made its way through the trees. 

 

He remembered his Father’s telling of how Mirkwood had been a stuffy place, where the paths wound away and changed underfoot. It was enchanted, and dark, and the only light that they’d found had belonged to the red lanterns of the elves. It was like that here, of course. Only much different. 

 

This forest felt more like one of the forests one would dream about. Hazy, and lit only along the path that Aragorn set out before them. 

 

“So you’re awake,” Celeghir croaked, and began his descent down toward the walking path. 

 

“So I am,” Gimli answered, and settled himself so that he wouldn’t pinch or ruffle the feathers of his flighted friend. Though, dwarves weren’t ones much for flying, and he felt more comfortable riding with Legolas with him, Gimli did enjoy the smooth glide toward the ground. 

 

Celeghir stooped and landed in front of Legolas long enough for Gimli to slide from his back, and then he once more took to the air. Legolas greeted Gimli with a smile which he had not seen for weeks past. It was a smile of contentment, joy. His face was lightened with jubilance, and Gimli found himself wondering just why it was that Aragorn hadn’t joined so much in  their laughter. 

 

He watched their guide ahead of them walking without turning so much as to greet him. The whole place filled Gimli with unease. Perhaps it was because dwarves were sturdier against magic than elves, but it felt like he was looking onward at an illusion. A ghost rather than their friend come back from the dead to guide them. He bothered not to ask Legolas his thoughts lest he ruin the mood. It had been too long since Legolas had smiled so. Instead, Gimli cast his thanks to the eagles and walked, listening on.

 

He was the first to notice the following of the red lantern through the trees, and the faceless figure that would peer out from between the branches. The first time he laid eyes on it, he had dismissed it as a trick of the eyes. He saw it again between two shrubs, peering out at them like a mask sewn into flesh. There was a bump where the nose would be, and two sunken holes for eyes. 

 

On the third appearance of their guest, Gimli had been about to open his mouth, but ahead of them the branches snapped and twisted. Another bright memory sprung forth on the back of a young mare. 

 

His hair flew wild about his face, a crown of leaves on his head, his smile as charming as a lad asking a lass to dance the gentle way. With a hand and a bow. Soon after him sprang a young female elf with curling hair like spun gold, and eyes as bright as the sky. He’d seen that face before in her son. It didn’t take much guessing to know that the woman was Legolas’ mother. 

 

She came to the side of the horse to rest her chin on Thranduil’s thigh, telling him something in elvish that Gimli couldn’t understand. He stroked his hand through her hair as though he was touching the most precious gem in all the lands. He looked upon her with such tenderness that Gimli remembered the day he’d set eyes on the Lady Galadriel and wondered at what such love would feel like. The Gathering was quiet in the moment of a memory of such innocent joy. 

 

Legolas watched on with rapt attention as Thranduil’s facial expression turned from one of benign happiness into tears of joy as he slid off of the back of his horse to collapse at her feet. His hands came up to cup her stomach, his ear pressed to it, and Gimli could guess what news he’d just been given. 

 

_ “My little leaf,”  _ her voice echoed in the trees, followed by a cry as the memories turned. The cries ebbed and Thranduil stood alone with an infant in his arms, gazing down at him much the same way he’d looked at the woman, only in his face there were tears of merriment and pride.

 

Legolas too felt tears; he’d been told of this day many times, and he could tell the story with fervor, but never had he thought he’d be given the grace to see it. As soon as the memory quieted away, the Gathering was well aware of the extra standing amongst them. 

 

The faceless figure stood in their midst, and Gandalf leaned on his staff.

 

He looked the figure up and down, as the figure returned the favor, mirroring him. 

 

“A lost soul,” Aragorn said ahead of them. 

 

“Let him come,” Legolas spoke. “For what harm could it do to give light to others wandering?”

 

Gandalf made no reply, but looked at Legolas queerly. It was the same look he’d give Frodo, or Bilbo, or Thorin on the journey. A choice he did not agree with, but one that wasn’t his to overrule. The creature seemed no harm, and said no foul word in any foreign tongue. It walked behind them a good distance as if it was wondering if following them really was worth the effort.

 

Now and again Gimli would look over his shoulder and shiver at the empty eyes staring at the back of their heads. 

 

It wasn’t so long before they were bombarded with another memory. This time it was one that startled the lot of them. Glass smashed on the forest floor, and an angry fight ensued in Sindarin on the path ahead of them. By one of the large boulders, there stood an elf with wavy white hair, and a jeweled crown on his brow.

 

He looked stern, his lips set in a line, and young Thranduil stood in front of him furious. At their feet there was a box and a necklace laying out in the dirt. The box had been made of fine glass with elvish inscription. Thranduil had smashed it.

 

_ “Jewels lead not but to greed,” the older elf told Thranduil, then cast his glance at the necklace in the dirt. “You do not need wealth to be a King, Thranduil. One day should you take my throne, you must learn the difference between power and money!” _

 

_ “It isn’t about money!” Thranduil shouted. He cast his glance again at the necklace and scowled to himself.  _

 

_ “Steal from me again, and I will put a swift end to you and this woman,” the elder warned, though his tone was much gentler. “You can ask for the things you need, Thranduil.” _

 

_ “Adar--” _

 

_ “I don’t want to hear it. I am embarrassed to have a son that steals so willingly, and I am very disappointed in you.”  _

 

_ “Excuse me my lord.”  _

 

The memory got muffled as the faceless man entered the picture, plucking the necklace from the glass. He polished one of the diamonds on his shirt, then looked apologetically at the King.

 

_ “It was my fault. I gave him grant to the safe to commission the necklace. The papers were meant to be sent to you-- my apologies.”  _

 

The memories ended abruptly as the faceless figure reached out to the figure in the memory and touched it. A shockwave blasted back the Gathering, kicking up dust and foliage. The lights went out, and for an extraordinarily frightening moment they were all left in the dark. 

 

Gandalf cupped his staff with one hand and blew into it gently. A white light kindled at the end of it like fire. In the clearing the figure crouched over where the necklace had been, weeping. His weak hands scratched at the dirt, and Legolas stared on at him as the pieces began to come together. The lost soul-- the one who had not made it to the void, or properly to the hall.

 

“Galion…?”

 

The figure lurched toward Legolas, but Gandalf stepped between them and lifted up his staff. The brilliant light flowed down the path again. The figure clawed at its own face, weeping from empty holes that used to be eyes. 

 

“That was once his name… yes. Galion,” Gandalf said the name with recognition. “He knows it again, but his soul is gone from  his body. His spirit is broken.”

 

Staring on with horror, Legolas tried again to approach, but was blocked by Gandalf’s staff.

 

“You cannot help him.”

 

“I must try!”

 

“Don’t be a fool!” Gandalf exclaimed. He turned and faced Legolas with a terrible expression, and the forest seemed to twist and wind at his will. “You must not stray from your path. Temptation is at every corner and you have to choose. Would you rather rescue your father or rescue your friend?”

 

\-----

 

Maedhros sat behind the wheel of a rusted out BMW, his passengers chatting away in the back seat. Thranduil sat in the passenger seat, his arms crossed over his chest. He and Maedhros tried to tune out the bickering from the four people behind them. Fíli and Kíli shoved each other, Thorin elbowed one or the other, and Bilbo had himself crammed against the door as far as he could get. 

 

Thranduil wondered quietly to himself if this was show Mithrandir felt along for the ride with the company. Of course, it would have been much rowdier with more of them. Fíli and Kíli sang inappropriate limericks between the two of them, as Maedhros’ radio was out, and by the time the six of them reached Coeur d'Coeurs and Ned’s house, Thranduil was ready to pull his hair out. Maedhros looked to be handling it much better, but then… he had lived during the days where Dwarves and Elves had lived side by side rather than at each other’s throats. 

 

“Would you two--

 

“-- knock it off!” Thorin and Bilbo voiced together after a particularly dirty limerick about a lady from Peru. Thranduil got out of the car as quickly as possible, rounding to the trunk. Maedhros unlocked it for him and grabbed the bags of groceries with the help of Thorin and Fíli. Thranduil grabbed a duffle bag and carried it up to the door. He noticed the overgrown grass, weeds, and bushes and took a deep breath in. Everywhere else had seemed so clean cut, and it was this one little house that reminded Thranduil of the forest. 

 

They filed into the quiet house, finding Ned in one of the back rooms sweeping away the dust and leaves from an open window. The house had no furniture, but Lily and Vivian had been kind enough to let Ned take a few of Chuck’s old things. Including a mattress and a box  spring from the guest room, several pillows and blankets, and cleaning solutions to help get the house looking like a house again. Of course, it was clear that Ned couldn’t live here forever, but it was a nice thought that he had somewhere else to stay. Thranduil still didn’t trust Vása. 

 

Maedhros got to Ned first though, and the two of them were talking quietly while Thorin and his Nephews got to work putting together dinner in the kitchen. The ruckus was cheerful and followed by melody of the dwarves working and singing, and Bilbo laughing with delight. Thranduil paused as he looked at Ned, then decided to duck in after Bilbo and help him peel potatoes. 

 

Ned bit his lip stubbornly, on the cusp of spilling what he’d been thinking all day. He’d been thinking for hours about the way that Digby had avoided Vása and Anna. Maybe he’d seen that Vása hadn’t been who he’d presented himself to be. 

 

“I thought elves were supposed to be jolly, and kind, and--” he had interrupted Maedhros, not that Maedhros minded much. He just snorted in derision and crossed his arms at Ned.

 

“If that were true, my brothers wouldn’t have killed a whole kingdom of people for a rock,” he spat. Ned didn’t have an argument for that. 

 

“Don’t tell Thranduil okay? I just-- I don’t want to deal with the whole… thing.” Ned waved his hand and grunted out a slow breath. “He already knows, doesn’t he?”

 

“Well, he probably wouldn’t be here if he didn’t. I just happened to come across them at the grocery store and they invited themselves along,” Maedhros explained. 

 

“You couldn’t have lied?”

 

“I’m trying to get out of the habit,” Maedhros gritted back. Ned dropped it, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Maedhros when Bilbo came scurrying around the corner with a spoon of something in his hand. 

 

“Goodness, Ned you’re a vegetarian, aren’t you? We didn’t bring much for a vegetarian meal but carrots and potatoes. I’m sorry. Blast it I completely forgot about it.”

 

“Potatoes and carrots are fine, if you can make a little bit of gravy without the meat-- I mean I can make it if you set some stock aside. I’m pretty resourceful, honest. I’m used to it.” 

 

Bilbo looked at Ned for a moment as if he was considering saying something else; fighting his need to be a good host, and the fact that their pantry was limited, Bilbo nodded his head with a quiet ‘very well then’, sniffed, and turned back to the kitchen to continue on what he was doing. Ned pushed his hands nervously into his pockets and looked back at Maedhros.

 

“Can I ask you something?” He was nervous, and it showed with the way he rocked back onto his heels and bounced on his toes, refusing to keep eye contact very long. Maedhros was beginning to feel a little dizzy just looking at him, so he set his hand on Ned’s shoulder to stop him, then crossed his arms again.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“Well… this morning…” How was he going to word this. He and Maedhros were never particularly close, but this was one of those ‘oh hell no’ conversations that Emerson probably wouldn’t even listen to. “This morning I was taking a shower when Vása joined me and it got steamy-- no pun intended. When I told him no, he got… pissed. Is that-- I mean-- I felt really sick after and--”

 

Maedhros’ features fell, and this time he grabbed both of Ned’s shoulders to look him in the eye.

 

“Did you two-- even though you didn’t want to?”

 

“No! No--! No, we didn’t I pushed his hand away and--”

 

“Did he hit you?”

 

“No!”

 

“God Ned--”

 

“Look, nevermind,” Ned pushed Maedhros’ hands off of his shoulders with a shrug, then stepped away from him. “It’s not a big deal okay? I just thought it was kind of weird. He’s been really jumpy, and hostile, and he says things like… like he’s implying that I’m stupid, or a freak or…”

 

“Ned that’s abuse,” Maedhros told him flatly. “He doesn’t have to hit you to be abusive.”

 

“What?” Ned heaved an exasperated sigh and waved his hands. “No-- I’m fine, really. It’s fine. We’re not together anymore, but I was thinking--”

 

“No. Ned. It isn’t  _ fine,”  _ Maedhros insisted. 

 

“Look just-- just forget it!” Ned pushed passed Maedhros and into the kitchen. As he did, Digby barked and only by instinct did Ned stop dead in his tracks. Thranduil stopped just in time. The two of them stood face to face, their noses inches apart. Ned’s chest heaved with a startled sound, and Thranduil ducked off to the side. The sounds of song and cheer stopped as if Ned had touched them back to death, and everyone looked on at them.

 

“I need air,” Ned whispered and headed for the back door, out into the field of yellow flowers. Thranduil narrowed his eyes briefly at Maedhros, then looked on after Ned with a much less terse expression. 

 

“You two allergic to each other?” Kíli sounded with a mouth full of dinner roll. He’d snagged it when Bilbo’s back was turned. 

 

“Yes,” Thranduil answered seriously. “We cannot touch. We did once… I broke out in a strange rash.” He said no more, then followed after Ned.

 

“What, like herpes?” Fíli interjected, and received a sharp elbow to the ribs from Thorin.

 

“Mind yourself lad,” Thorin warned. “Help Bilbo with the meats and keep your nose outtov it.”

 

Ned sat out in the flowers, his chin on his hand as he looked out onto the vanishing point of the horizon. Out to where he knew the fields of yellow ended. Out toward where he knew somewhere there was a dark creature willing to do anything to take over their world. He glared out at that horizon line as if his gaze alone would tell him just where the guy was, and just how to beat him. 

 

He barely paid attention to Thranduil who lowered himself down into the sprigs of yellow flowers. 

 

“You heard all of it, didn’t you…?”

 

“Bits and pieces. It seems that misfortune smiles only on the kind when they are buried already up to their necks,” Thranduil spoke sympathetically. “We need not talk of it.”

 

“Thanks.” 

 

The two sat side by side while the sky began to darken. 

 

“Would you wish me to stay…? I know you and Maedhros have an arrangement, but I would think you could use your friends as of right now, Pie Maker.”

 

“Thanks, but I kind of don’t want to have to break up any fights,” Ned answered glumly. And he definitely didn’t want to have to watch Thranduil make his tea in the morning, and wonder just what it would be like to kiss him good morning and taste peppermint, or jasmine, or whatever flavor was in that cup of his. He didn’t need to think about what it would be like to touch those satiny strands of hair, or hold onto them while--

 

His stomach turned.

 

“Sorry. Not that I want to be rude, but--”

 

Thranduil shook his head with a smile and watched the horizon with Ned.

 

“Only an offer. You did the same for me,” Thranduil reminded him. “I fear that it may have been partially my fault you are in so much distress.”

 

_ You have no idea,  _ Ned bemoaned in his mind. 

 

“No. Not really. It’s not your fault he’s a jerk. I didn’t know elves could be jerks, but I guess that’s kind of racist of me. Everyone can be a jerk.”

 

Thranduil laughed and covered his mouth.

 

“You did not glean this from the time I punched Thorin Oakenshield?”

 

Ned finally felt a smile twitch at the corner of his lips.  _ Okay, so things do get funnier with time.  _

 

“I’m glad you were that wary. Really. At least one of us was. I think I’m going to believe you from now on.”

 

Thranduil bit the inside of his cheek to keep back a comment about Maedhros. Maedhros had been one to sit in Ned’s room and protect him well past visiting hours. Maedhros had shown true loyalty to Ned, and that was not something that Thranduil was willing to ignore. He had been there while Vása cowered away from them like they carried the plague. 

 

“Hold still,” Thranduil told Ned. He scooted himself closer so that their thighs were touching. Then, very carefully, he set his hand on Ned’s back between his shoulders. It was no hug, but being closer felt right. There seemed to be a tug between them that made Thranduil simply want to be closer. Since the fire, since Ned’s magic had come to life before his eyes, Thranduil had only yearned to be close to Ned. 

 

The warmth from the Pie Maker’s back radiated into his hand, and Thranduil felt his chest fill with joy, especially as Ned’s muscles naturally unwound. While Ned stiffened at the touch of most anyone, he leaned into Thranduil’s.

 

And at that very moment, in the town of Coeur  d'Coeurs, Thranduil found himself falling for the Pie Maker named Ned.


	12. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Sons_of_F%C3%ABanor The Sons of Feanor  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/E%C3%A4rendil Eärendil  
> http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Elwing Elwing  
> http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Elros Elros  
> http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Silmarils The Silmarils
> 
> Lots of name drops in this chapter.
> 
> Also, just a warning now: I'm moving out of my house. So I'm not sure how regularly I'm going to be updating anymore, but I'm going to be trying my hardest to keep it as current as possible. I'm sorry this chapter is kinda... ???? Idk. I feel like it was a bit like one of those filler chapters. 
> 
> AH WELL. ENJOY.

Legolas watched the weeping figure in front of him with sympathetic eyes. This was not the kind of choice he thought he would have to make. It was not the kind of choice he thought he  _ could  _ make. He balled his fists at his sides and looked over to the others for some sort of help. Galion had been there for him since the day he was born, and obviously he had served Thranduil long before his crown as well. There was an undying loyalty in Galion that deserved saving. Would that mean that he would never find his father?

 

With a heavy heart, Legolas placed his hand over his chest, finding the leaf of Lórien he kept with him since the days of the fellowship. He plucked it from his breast and knelt before his friend, placing it in Galion’s hand as a valiant promise. 

 

“I will return. On my honor, and the honor of Eryn Lasgalen for as long as it stands, Galion I will return for you,” he lifted himself away, then looked at Gandalf with a pained expression. Gandalf returned this sentiment with a somber nod of his head.

 

“Y’mean we’re just going to leave him here?” Gimli asked incredulously. The stubbornness of dwarves never failed, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Legolas turned on him with a look of upset and anger he had never shown his friend before this very moment. Not a thing needed saying between them, and Gimli observed the gravity of the decision that needed making, and the choice that Legolas would need to live with the rest of his days. To save his flesh and blood, or the elf who had served them loyally. 

 

Gimli would not let this go. 

 

“A King doesn’t just leave his Kin to rot!” He insisted, and Legolas looked away from him,

 

“I am no King, and I am not leaving him to rot. He is safe within these halls; suffering, yes. We will return for him Gimli. We did not give up on Merry and Pippin when it looked like the very fires of Mordor would consume us. I will not leave him to his fate, but we don’t know wherein his soul lies-- inside or outside of these halls. I am going to bet that where we find my Adar, we will find Galion as well. And if we do not, then I will search until the ends of my days. This is my promise. My Oa-”

 

“Do not!” Nerdanel boomed. “Do not swear an oath for something you cannot undo Legolas Thranduilion! You will regret it for the rest of your days. Oaths  sworn in sorrow only bring sorrow, and you will bring us all to doom in the wake of it!” She bellowed. She towered over the two of them with all of the fury of an angry lioness, bearing down on them with tension that was only broken by the easy clearing of Gandalf’s throat.

 

“We have wasted enough time here in the forest, we must go onward ere we lose ourselves and nobody is saved.”

 

Gimli and Legolas glanced at each other resentfully, and it was the first time since the forests of Lothlórien that they had felt such contempt for one another. Gimli was thinking to himself quietly how no dwarf would have left one of their own behind to suffer such a terrible fate, and wondered at how an elf could do that to one of their own kin. Legolas ignored the tension in favor of thinking on what he should do to make sure he could keep his promise. Whether or not Gimli was angry with him, he knew that his father would be livid. 

He also knew that if their positions had been in reverse, Thranduil would have left Galion to retrieve him. But Galion would not have left either of them to their fates. Galion would have stayed by their sides. 

 

So they continued their walking. Aragorn had nothing to say for whether or not he agreed, no matter how much either of them prodded him privately for answers. He would simply listen to each of them with quiet words on the perspective of each friend at odds. The eagles did not care for any of this of course. They flew high above, weaving in the branches until the woods split open to sand. 

 

Soon, soft white sand stretched out in every direction in front of them, and Legolas wondered to himself whether this was a memory, or a physical part of the world in which they travelled through. At the edge of the wood, Aragorn stopped and cast his gaze to the horizon, as if he was looking for something that none of them could see. A path that would lead them through the empty wasteland without getting lost. 

 

“Curious,” Gandalf murmured to himself and toked the end of his staff in the sand as if he were rapping on a door. The air tasted like dust, and above them the eagles circled downward to land on the soft terrain. 

 

“And just where are we to go now?” Celeghir rasped, ruffling his feathers. “There is nothing but this wasteland for leagues as far as I can see. We won’t be able to cross it before The elfling’s parent dies of age.”

 

“Do we turn back?” Legolas suggested, casting his glance back to the wood. “Eryn Lasgalen is notorious for misleading its travellers. I’m afraid it may have lead us to a dead end in my despair. My Adar always used to say not to let the wood carry my feet or I will never make it home. He would have to come and find me some evenings.”

 

“An elf lost in the woods? By my beard,” Gimli chuckled to himself. 

 

“Aye, and I would assume-- though this may only be the spirit of the wood here, or a replica…”

 

“No, I’m afraid that we are on the right path,” Aragorn told them. He lifted his hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully and turned back to the group. “But this is where the path ends.”

 

“Is it some sort of sorcery?” Nerdanel questioned as she turned her face up to the sky. Her question was answered swiftly, and she gasped upon the discovery of what looked like the stars falling from the sky. “No! No! Look there! Look! The stars!”

 

The Gathering lifted their gaze to the sky, and behold! Before them the light of a star shone closer and closer. It came upon them as suddenly as it was spied. A ship descended on them from the inky heavens. Its bow bent like a swan, and its sails carried by the same silver dust that had rained on them in the wood, Legolas saw the flag of Eärendil wagging in the breeze that swept from Eryn Lasgalen. Except, as Legolas glanced over his shoulder, the wood was no longer behind them. There was only sand as far as the eye could see. He felt an ache of homesickness, but it passed just as soon as it had come.

 

A rope ladder was lowered to them from aboard the ship, and there Aragorn bent his head to them. He would not be boarding the ship with blue and white sails. Legolas and Gimli clasped him on each shoulder, and they stood together as friends for the last time. The star on his brow faded, and Aragorn’s skin crumbled to sand. They said no long goodbyes, nor did they shed a tear. Aragorn would return to his waiting place, and there he would keep his peace until he was again needed. 

 

Legolas was the first to climb aboard, followed by Gimli, Nerdanel, and finally Gandalf. The eagles rested themselves out of the way, and at the helm of the ship, there stood a tall elf with spills of hair that shone as brightly as the star on his brow. Legolas could hardly stand to keep eyes on him for he was radiant like the sun. 

 

“I was told that you would need guidance.” As Eärendil spoke, Gimli and Legolas could swear to themselves that they knew the voice that he puppeted. It was then that they both realized that through the gleam of the star on him, Eärendil bore Elrond’s features. Not so much in his hair, but his face seemed to reflect the wisdom and age of the lord of Imladris. 

 

The ship lifted into the sky, and far away Legolas could hear the sound of the waves and the gulls. His heart ebbed with the feeling of drawing nearer to home; to the place he was meant to belong. They travelled somewhere between the hall and the corporeal world, saying nothing, but feeling all the peace and healing that surrounded them. The waves of silver dust wrapped them all in what felt like a fond embrace. Gandalf sat with his staff leaned on his shoulder, looking out at the ground below them that seemed to flicker between Arda, the hall, and somewhere else entirely.

 

Tall buildings reached up toward them, looking ominous and cold, and the smell of exhaust reeked around them from time to time.

 

“The veil is thinnest here,” Eärendil explained to them as he looked at the ground below. “But we cannot pass here. We can only glimpse the worlds’ that brush up against our own. Recently, this has been the only one in the sights of my ship. It is a strange thing, the veil. It is nothing more than a bit of sorcery sometimes, but then I swear I see the likes of something foreign buried in the sands.”

 

“And have you been brave enough to check it for yourself?” Legolas asked boldly.

 

“No,” Eärendil admitted, and then smiled. “For something from one world must always return to the world it came from. We all return to sand some day.”

 

\-----

 

Ned sat up rather suddenly, jerked out of sleep with the last few words of his dream echoing in his head. It had been such a confusing dream. One that had started as a nightmare. He could still feel the cold water from the shower on his shoulders, and feel the way Vása had looked at him. Slowly the nightmare had faded into something he couldn’t describe. The last thing he remembered was the smell of the sea, and sailing through the stars as if they were just sparkles floating in black ink.

 

_ “Something from one world must always return to the world it came from.”  _

 

Ned cleared his throat. It took him a moment to come back to himself really, to focus on the sound of Digby snoring, and the sounds of talking in the kitchen. Surely, Thranduil and Maedhros weren’t still at it? Ned rubbed his eye tiredly and slid himself out from under the blanket, shoving his feet into a pair of cheap slippers, then headed for the stairs. 

 

Dinner had been an event and a half. Dwarves were definitely something else when it came to family dinners. That’s what they’d called it. Family dinner. As if they weren’t the oddest group of people to sit down in his cramped little kitchen and eat a meal together. Fíli and Kíli had clanked their silverware together, sloshed their drinks all over the floor and table, and sang crude songs the whole meal through. Thorin couldn’t have even kept the smile from his face if he’d tried, and Ned couldn’t help but join in on the drinks himself.

 

It had been a good end to a bad day, even with Bilbo muttering something like “Heaven’s sake,” under his breath while they cleaned up the linoleum after their meal. It had been about 11 at night before Thorin, Bilbo, and the nephews had piled into the car to go home. Bilbo had graciously offered Thranduil a ride-- Ned wasn’t entirely sure why he’d declined. Ned hadn’t expected him to stay, though he wasn’t about to turn away good company. He just hoped that he wouldn’t have to break up a fight between Maedhros and Thranduil. 

 

He hadn’t been sure how he felt about Thranduil staying despite his own protests otherwise. Not at the time anyway. Now in the darkness of the morning, the sound of Thranduil and Maedhros talking brought him more comfort than should have been necessary. It was a much warmer feeling than waking up to the sounds of Vása and Anna talking. 

 

Ned made his way down the flight of stairs to join them in the dining room, both of his friends looking at him with a rather pleasant smile. The way Thranduil’s face seemed to glow in the lowlight reminded Ned that he was once an ethereal Elvenking of the Woodland realm. Maedhros, too, looked stunning in the warm glow of the lamp. His wine red hair glowed like an angry fire, and his freckled face looked liked shapely porcelain. Ned felt as though he’d woken from a dream and walked directly into another one-- until he noticed what the two of them had been bonding over. 

 

On the table, there in front of him, was an album of pictures-- and that was definitely a picture of him about 2 years old, in the bathtub, buck naked. 

 

Ned went red right up to his ears and yelped. Then, in one long stride, he crossed the room to slam the photo album shut and hug it to his chest.

 

“Where did you get this!?” He asked in a breathy panic-- and no, his voice did not squeak. That was definitely  _ not  _ a squeak. 

 

“Your friends across the road brought over a box they said that they found in their basement,” Maedhros answered first. “The ornery woman with the eyepatch, drunk as can be, just came to drop it off about an hour ago.”

 

Ned turned his gaze toward the box by the door, a few cherished items stored inside of it. With the album still hugged to his chest, he crouched down to sift through what Lily thought was so important that he would need it at 2 in the morning. Not that she was wrong. There were worse things to wake up to-- like a fire demon having completely burned down your house and establishment. Instead he found old toys, old memories, and even a ball that belonged to Digby. 

 

Ned found something at the bottom of the box, though, that he hadn’t been expecting. He felt his heart drop down through the floor when his fingers brushed over the light yellow fabric that he’d thought was just a blanket or a sheet. He set the album aside to pull out a shirt. Much too small for him, but a little too large to be Chuck’s. It still smelled faintly like vanilla fields perfume, but mostly the smell had faded to dust and stuffy attic. But it was hers. It was his mother’s shirt. Lily and Vivian had been the ones to choose his mother’s outfit to be buried in, they must have kept some things by accident.

 

“Was that Chuck’s?” Thranduil asked boldly, snapping Ned out of his trance. 

 

“No,” Ned cleared his throat, “it was my mom’s. It was um… This is the shirt she was wearing when she died I think.” He was sure. “She was wearing this, and her apron-- she was tucking me in and… You know.” 

 

He did know. Thranduil frowned quietly as he remembered the half explanation he’d gotten from Ned on how his mother had passed away to begin with. Ned had been without his parents since he was very young, and Thranduil could not imagine the heartbreak he must have felt-- how lonely it must have been. 

 

“I believe there are pictures of her in that album with you,” Thranduil prompted, kneeling down beside Ned. Maedhros joined him at his other side, saying nothing at all. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. Ned was like a puzzle to be solved; he didn’t have the same story that Thranduil did, and it wasn’t one he was able to piece together from old baseball cards and a yellow shirt. 

 

Ned took a deep breath and opened the photo album. On the first page, there was a faded picture of his mother sitting beside his father. He had his arm around her from behind, his hands planted on her round, pregnant stomach. They looked happy. The sort of happy one would see in an ice cream commercial, or a holiday movie where everyone kissed and hugged each other before the whacky exposition. 

 

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, his hands shaking as he turned the page. The next two pages didn’t have any pictures, but instead a poem that looked like it had been cut out of a story book, one that was published the day that Ned had been born titled “Keep on Dreaming of Heaven”, by anonymous. 

 

_ At the end of a long lone road _

_ when you’re not sure where else to go, _

_ Turn to where the toll of life is owed; _

_ Let the waves rock you to sleep to and fro. _

_ Keep on Dreaming of Heaven. _

 

_ Come weary traveller of years; _

_ Your journey is behind you on the shore _

_ east to the sea, away from your fears. _

_ Let fall the grips of war. _

 

_ Keep on Dreaming of Heaven.  _

 

_ Cry not into the dark,  _

_ Say no more goodbyes. _

_ Save your last hallowed spark, _

_ Follow the stars into clearer skies. _

 

_ Keep on Dreaming of Heaven. _

 

Ned frowned at the poem and read it again and again, trying to make sense of it. Maedhros leaned over his shoulder and frowned at it, touching the edge of the page carefully. It reminded him of something he couldn’t quite remember, but in the back of his mind he could hear the beginning of a tune playing over and over again. 

 

Turning the page again, Ned took a deep breath to try and forget about the poem for another minute, but on the other side of the page there was a drawing that made Maedhros share a glance with Thranduil. 

 

“Do you know what this is, Ned?” Thranduil asked as he pointed to the sketch of the faceless figure, a clear symbol on his chest, and a world laid out between his calloused hands. In the center of Arda there appeared to be a flame burning brightly, and from it burst forth creatures of all shapes.

 

“No,” Ned answered. “Not really. I guess-- god maybe? It looks like one of those pictures that people paint of god creating the world or something.”

 

“That is the immortal flame, and Eru Ilúvatar,” Thranduil explained to him. “He, or they, are the creator of Eä, and all that it encompasses. And they used the immortal flame to give life to the elves, the valar, men, dwarves… everything.” 

 

Ned scrunched up his nose in disbelief and dropped the book onto his lap. There were a lot of things that he was willing to believe, but his mother having a picture of the elf god and Arda was not something he was prepared to deal with at 2 in the morning. Despite his disbelief, Maedhros and Thranduil held their gazes even with him. There was something they weren’t telling him. 

 

What they’d been talking about in hushed tones of voice? The way they were looking at him-- his gift. Immediately everything began to make sense. The sparks of yellow light he would see every time he brought someone back to life. How his mother could have possibly known about Eru-- about elves--

 

“Ned, it is said that the Creator hid away the immortal flame where Melkor-- Morgoth could not get his hands on it. They hid away its power so that no fool could use it for great evil.” Maedhros looked at Ned’s hands and shifted himself uneasily. Clearly, Maedhros was rather uncomfortable discussing this, but Ned was appalled.

 

“Wait hang on--”

 

“Ned, you can bring--”

 

“You  _ told him,”  _ Ned turned on Thranduil, pissed. He stood up and backed away from the two of them, letting the album clatter to the floor. He felt like his lungs had been gripped in a vice. Thranduil stood up just as quickly, if not with a little more grace than the Pie Maker, who looked like a deer about to be struck down by a truck on the road. 

 

“He did  _ not, _ ” Maedhros boomed, “listen to me and do  _ not interrupt.  _ Ned, you can bring the dead back to life. I have seen it with my own two eyes. I worked for you for a long time Ned, I am not as blind as Olive was. I’ve seen that your pies do not wither or rot. I have noticed that your dog does not age. Ned, your secret was always safe with me, I promise you. I never told a soul; you gave me work when nobody else would. You provided me with food when I was hungry. You treated me like I was capable, though I only have one hand and a prosthetic. Nobody else would look at me like I wasn’t… in need of  _ saving.  _ You can  _ trust me.  _ Have I not earned it?” Maedhros glared at Ned with acidic eyes, and immediately, the Pie Maker could feel himself deflate.

 

If it had been that obvious to Maedhros, who else knew? Did Vása know?

 

“Ned, please,” Thranduil stepped close to him and held his slender hands up for Ned to watch. “Take a breath, in, and out,” he instructed mildly, as if Ned’s biggest secret hadn’t just been outed to someone he’d rather not have know. Ned just felt himself get angrier, and the angrier he got, the more tensely he seemed to coil. Thranduil could see the eruption just below the surface that was fueled by a mixture of anger and disbelief. Denial, and betrayal, and all sorts of things threatened to make their poor friend explode. 

 

Maedhros decided to exit quickly to the kitchen, leaving Thranduil to do the calming to the best of his ability. 

 

“Did you tell him anything?”

 

“We discussed your gift only briefly to confirm that we both knew about it. I said nothing personal,” Thranduil said plainly, and Ned knew he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t sure just how he knew Thranduil wasn’t lying, but he did. Thranduil hadn’t told any of his secrets, and neither had Maedhros-- yet. Ned began to pace. It was the only thing he could think of to do to get rid of his nervous energy, though he was unaware that he’d begun to make a low sort of distressed noise that reminded Thranduil a little of a wounded animal. 

 

“So I’m this-- Immortal flame thing?” He finally sputtered. It sounded just as insane out loud as it did in his head. 

 

“We aren’t sure. We think that perhaps you have access to the flame at the very least. You may have tapped into its power, or your mother might have, or perhaps it was gifted to you. But that is just one theory Ned. We did not know just what to think of something like this, and we haven’t anyone to consult about it.” Thranduil paused and cleared his throat. “I did not even expressly tell him that you brought me back to life.”

 

“Wait, hang on.” Ned stopped and covered his mouth with one hand, his brows pushing together. Thranduil watched the vein in Ned’s forehead with a bit of interest. Though he did not enjoy Ned being so distressed, there was not much he could do but observe and react as calmly as possible. “Who would you even consult about this? Who would possibly know? Do you guys have doctors or something that would look me up and down and be like “Gee, his energy looks a lot like that flame in that one biblical story!”? This is-- it’s ridiculous!”

 

“Bringing people back to life is a little ridiculous Ned,” Thranduil pointed out.

 

“I know! I know it is! I’ve been telling myself that since I was eight!” He shouted. Finally, Thranduil could not take any more of Ned’s pacing, so he stepped forward and pulled away his cloak, draping it very carefully around the Pie Maker’s shoulders. Ned seemed to halt, then curl slightly into the fabric as though he were unsure of it. 

 

“Do you remember this?” Thranduil asked him as he traced the detailing along Ned’s shoulder. It fit him extraordinarily well, for a mortal that was much shorter than Thranduil himself. 

 

“No-- not really,” Ned admitted, though he was kind of swept up with his thoughts that were quickly spiraling away into what the possibilities of his gift could really mean. 

 

“It is the cloak you helped me recover at the morgue, Ned. It is the single tie I have left to what was and who I used to be. I did not believe that there was a world beyond our realms, one that would have a Pie Maker that could bring the dead back to life. Though, lo and behold, here he stands. Draped in the cloak of a king, worthy of it himself.”

 

Ned’s lips puckered uncertainly as he exhaled through his nose. He nodded his head in acknowledgement of what the fabric really meant, and what Thranduil was really trying to tell him. 

 

“Ned, you are and always have been special. As ordinary as you try to make yourself, your kind heart and willingness to do good is why you have this gift. I am certain of it.” There was very little Thranduil would be able to do to comfort Ned. It felt a lot like suddenly the entire universe was crushing down on the crown of his head. The more he tried to think about it, the more his head hurt, and the more he made the sort of distressed sound that made Thranduil try not to laugh. 

 

“You will not fall apart because you are not ordinary, Pie Maker,” Thranduil told him finally. “Look.” He grabbed Ned’s wrists by the fabric and raised his hands to his face. “You are still intact.” 

 

Ned looked at his hands. The little nicks, burns, and scars from his years of working in the kitchen. The immortal flame that gave birth to the entire universe of elves and men in Arda, and he was using the  gift  _ to make pies.  _ He laughed incredulously and let his shoulders fall slack. Maedhros walked in on Ned looking as though he had just discovered for the first time in his entire life that he possessed hands. The way in which he gazed on his fingertips made Maedhros raise his brows at Thranduil before he handed over the glass of lukewarm tap water. 

 

“Are you going to be all right now?” Maedhros asked uneasily.

 

“No. Well. Yeah, but-- no. That’s kind of a big thing to swallow even though it might not even be true.”

 

“We think that… that is why Sauron let you live. The one who burned down the Pie Hole-- It is uncertain what their- and by their I do mean Morgoth and Sauron- plans for you might be, or if that is indeed why he let you live… but we are beginning to wonder a little. The name Vása is not what… he has lead you to believe. It is another name that our people used for the sun. The consumer. We believe that it is an alias of sorts. It… would not be the first time that Sauron used a disguise to gain the trust of those around him.” Maedhros confessed. 

 

Thranduil shot Maedhros a look of displeasure and annoyance, his lips parting to intake a short breath of disgust. He’d just gotten Ned to calm down, now was not the time to go and tell the Pie Maker that Sauron was the one he’d been kissing, the one he’d fallen in love with, the one he’d chosen over Thranduil for a time. Not that Thranduil could blame him. Sauron was wily, and he had many means of getting what he wanted. 

 

Ned, of course, took this news as well as Thranduil expected him to. The glass of water shattered on the floor as his hands shook too violently to hold it. The implications of what he had been doing washed over him. How could he not have noticed?

 

“I have to call Emerson.” That was something Thranduil didn’t expect. Even though Ned was wracked with guilt, and disbelief, he’d suddenly drawn up a lead on his case. That was more than enough to focus on instead. Talking about his upset could be easily avoided if he was chasing down bad guys. Ned left Maedhros and Thranduil to their own devices in the living room and disappeared to make his phone call. 

 

\------

 

Legolas leaned on the edge of the ship looking out on the shifting horizon. The worlds’ below them had not changed much, other than the dark beginning to lift away to the light. Surely, that meant that the sun was beginning to rise somewhere. He had not spoken to Gimli since they had begun their journey through the stars. He sat away from the group while the rest of them spoke fondly about the regions they had travelled through. Most places that Gimli spoke of, he remembered just the same.

 

The glittering caves, the tall trees of Fangorn, the edges of cliffs, foam of the sea, plains of the Rohirrim, the towers that stood and looked over the lands like beacons of times gone by. Legolas could only think of one place; where they were going. The tall buildings and sounds from below gave him an idea of what he was going to see, what nameless things they would come up against. He wondered if Thranduil’s soul wandered this gray land, and if his body had been left somewhere in the hall much like Galion’s had. 

 

Eärendil spoke with a gentle and melodic voice. He told the group of wonderful things from long ago, spoke about great heroes and battles, and of course, fondly of Elwing. He told the Eagles about how Elwing had turned her brave spirit into a bird, and how she bore away with one of the Silmarils. 

 

“And where is the Silmaril now, may I ask?” Gimli queried, wrapped in the story like a young thing. Eärendil only smiled his indulgence upon the politeness of this dwarf and bowed his head. The bright light of the jewel that shone there suddenly caught Legolas’ attention, and he sprung from the spot he sat in. 

 

Suddenly his heart was full of joy and of unease; he laid his eyes upon such a thing that held so much history to his kin, and he had disregarded it. Of course, he had thought that the light that shone of Eärendil had been a star. He remembered his lessons. He remembered now that Eärendil wore the silmaril in the dark to guide the elves to their home in Valinor. 

 

Gandalf noticed how Nerdanel turned away from the thing, recoiled from it in disgust. She stood from her spot and walked away from Eärendil. She looked pale in the face, and ill in her heart. Of course, that was to be expected. Her husband was the one who wrought them, and who had sworn the blood oath to retrieve them. He had taken her sons away and they had been the ones who committed the murders that Eärendil spoke of in the pursuit of those accursed jewels. Her sons had stolen away with Elrond and Elros in the night, and killed Eärendil and Elwing’s kin. Gandalf knew the seldom told history of Maedhros caring for Elros and Elrond as they grew. How Maglor had loved them like his own, and Maedhros had fathered  them after he’d realized his terrible deed. 

 

Her sons had loved Eärendil’s sons like their own, and by extension, they could be called kin to one another through blood. Blood spilled, not blood bonded through marriage or love. Only through a faithless oath taken. Nerdanel wept then. 

 

She cried for her sons that had spent themselves on evil deeds. She wept for how their deeds lead to Eärendil now being their light. Her shame kept her cries quiet; her heart broke for the families that had been torn down over the gem that stood proud as a light now in the sky. Who now looked up at them and saw the deed of her sons as a sign of treachery that resulted in a symbol of hope? Who now remembered the children she had loved as terrible and murderous?

 

She still could remember the gentle way that Maitimo’s hands had curled around the fallen bird. The tears on his face as he begged her to fix the creature so that he could return to his own family. Nerdanel could think on how Maglor had played beautiful music, how he could sing such a beautiful tune that her heart would leap and feel with each beat like it was dancing. 

 

She could remember how Curufin looked just like his father, walked behind him in Fëanor’s footsteps and laughed when he would bump into the backs of his father’s legs. She remembered Amrod, and Amras, and how they wore a blue and a purple flower crown each so she could tell them apart. 

 

Nerdanel could think on Caranthir and Celegorm and how they would fight with not but wooden swords, killing only invisible foes. She could remember each and how they cried, how they laughed, how they hugged her, and kissed her on the cheek. She could see their faces clearly in her mind, and she was reminded then that they were gone. With their oath, they were not permitted any peace in Eä, or the Hall of Mandos. 

 

Legolas joined Nerdanel at her side and stood close. He could understand to some degree the loss she felt. The feeling he had had when Thranduil had died was one that would stick with him for the rest of his days. Nerdanel had to have felt that eight times in total. She had lost her whole family. 

 

She did something then that Legolas did not expect. Suddenly, he was pressed into her shoulder as she wept into his hair, holding onto him. She could see him for how he felt; Legolas, though grown, was simply a lost child looking for his father. She was a mother without her children. It made sense now to her just why she must accompany the Gathering as far as they would go. Legolas did not need another mother, but perhaps Nerdanel needed peace in seeing a family become whole once more. 

 

\-----

 

Suffice it to say Emerson had not been happy about Ned calling him at 2 in the morning. More or less, the conversation left Ned with a half finished sentence and a frustrated knowledge that he would have to wait until at least 10 in the morning before Emerson was awake enough to talk about elves and magic. 

 

Thranduil found him curled up on the floor of his old bedroom wrapped in the cloak that he’d been loaned. He had cleaned up the glass on the floor, and had hushed a swift reprimand on Maedhros for upsetting Ned all over again after everything he’d been through. He did not have the heart to admit that he was sure that things were going to get a whole lot worse before they would begin to get better. There was no denying that people were going to die. Lots of people. 

 

There was going to be nothing short of war for this world; Thranduil kept that to himself. Instead he focused on the things he could control. He could make Ned feel better. He could help the dwarves rebuild the Pie Hole. He could work hard to get more accustomed to this world. He could learn to read. 

 

Thranduil let go of a small sigh, which caught Ned’s attention. He wished that Ned had not caught him looking so sullen. He closed the door behind him and sat cross legged across from Ned.

 

“Will you tell me about your mother?” Perhaps that wasn’t what Ned wanted to talk about, but it would take his mind off of everything else. “What was her name?”

 

Ned thought back to his childhood. He remembered warm kitchens, tender hands, tight hugs, light hearted nights-- fights between his mom and his dad, and the night they went from a family of three to a family of two.

 

“Her name was Evelyn Baker. She was 29 when she died. She was a librarian and she worked for the library in North Thrush.  She liked to bake pie, and her favorite flowers were daisies. Like-- um… like mine. They remind me of her. She loved Elvis, and she was a cat person. But I wanted a dog, so she got me a puppy. I guess that she was just like a mom should be. She loved me, and took care of me, and tucked me in every night. And… she died when a blood vessel in her brain burst… and I brought her back to life… and then when she went to kiss me goodnight--” Ned swallowed hard and tucked himself further into Thranduil’s cloak.

 

Thranduil listened quietly, then looked down at his hands.

 

“She sounds like a very lovely woman. I am so sorry for your loss; wherever she might be I do hope she is at peace,” he offered. Ned kind of laughed, taking Thranduil by surprise. 

 

“I miss her you know? It still feels like she could come home. I guess that’s kind of why I love it here. It’s not the same kind of feeling of home as when I was a kid, but it’s like… why focus on all of the bad things when I can come back here and think about all of the good things? Like playing hide and seek with Chuck, or playing with Play Doh people, or the day I got Digby. 

 

“I can go on forever about all the memories I have here. Like the door frame that measures my height. Chuck um-- the last time I was here with her… She measured me and we laughed about it. It’s just… the place I go to know that everything’s going to be okay again. And I guess it will be even if it doesn’t feel like it. My mom used to do this thing when I was a kid. When I had a bad day, we’d cook together. It’s-- it’s stupid but she used to let me decide what we were cooking, and she’d get everything together and we’d just… cook.”

 

“That isn’t stupid, Ned. That sounds lovely.” Thranduil felt as though he could smell the pies in the kitchen. He thought for just a moment he could experience these things through Ned’s eyes and love them just the same. “My Atar would take me into the wood when I was upset and teach me how to climb trees. Even though he didn’t quite know how to walk in the boughs like the silvan elves. We both ended up looking quite foolish.”

 

“Atar?” 

 

“My father,” Thranduil explained. “His name was Oropher, and he was the first King of Eryn Lasgalen back when it was Greenwood the Great. He was slain in the Battle of Dagorlad.”

 

“How old were you?” Ned blurted, before he even thought about whether or not that was rude or not.

 

Thranduil did not answer, as he looked quite far away for a few minutes. He looked like an entirely different person than the elf that had arrived on the slab in the morgue. He spoke more modernly, he looked more calm-- Ned felt as though he had known Thranduil his whole life, though Thranduil was thousands of years old. 

 

“I wish I could touch you,” Ned sighed, a half mooney smile stretching over his face. He delighted in the way that Thranduil’s cheeks turned a very, almost unnoticeable shade of pink; he especially delighted in the way Thranduil smiled. 

 

“What for?” Thranduil asked with an airy sort of laugh. 

 

_ Abort,  _ he thought to himself, his grin suddenly cracking into a nervous sort of chuckle. He may have been thinking about kissing Thranduil. A terrible thought to have after he’d just told Ned about how his dad had died, or how he’d just broken up with Vása-- the dark lord Sauron, or perhaps even how his girlfriend was dead. Right then, though, he didn’t want to think about any of it. He wanted to think about kissing, and dorky smiles, and how soft Thranduil’s skin looked; the way he looked so far away and beautiful, Ned couldn’t help himself from at least  _ thinking it.  _

 

“No reason. I just -- I uh-- I hate how we have to kind of… be careful like that. I just don’t want to think about… well, if maybe I did want to… hold your hand… and suddenly that hand isn’t available. I’ve kind of done that before and it ended badly and I don’t want… that.”

 

“Are you saying that you want to hold my hand Pie Maker? How scandalous,” Thranduil tittered and smiled. 

 

“No!” Ned gulped back the embarrassment from how quickly he blurted that. “No… Not at all. I’m more of a… well… I don’t… I--”

 

Thranduil sat up on his knees and leaned over Ned, which forced Ned to lean back until his shoulders hit the floor. He felt his breath catch in his throat at just how easily Thranduil got him down on his back, splayed out and helpless with a simple movement and a smoldering look. Ned began to feel nervous, like things were suddenly moving way too quickly, and he could panic all over again. But Thranduil’s intentions were not sinister, or sexual, or demanding-- no. He simply looked through the pockets in his cloak until he pulled forth a pair of gloves and put them on. He sat back then and offered Ned his gloved hand. Ned watched Thranduil from his spot on the floor, wrapped in this beautiful creature’s cloak-- he looked at the hand offered out to him dubiously.

 

Then, he took it, wrapping his fingers between the warm fabric, and smiled as Thranduil pulled him off his back so that they sat parallel, side by side, their faces close together. That close, Ned could see every detail of Thranduil’s features, right down to the soft plush pink of his bottom lip. He could smell his own peppermint toothpaste, incredibly happy that he’d decided to brush his teeth before laying down again. 

 

Thranduil observed the wash of faint freckles, the crooked smile, the slightly crooked nose, and the warmth between them. He felt his own guilt melt away thinking of his long passed wife, and thought not on how he would look at her the way he now looked at Ned.

 

“Pie Maker… I would kiss you if it wouldn’t result in my demise.”


End file.
